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The English Patient
Found Poem The English Patient A despairing saint. She had tried to damage her life so casually. She entered the story knowing she would emerge from a feeling she had been immersed in the lives of others, in plots that stretched back twenty years, her body full of sentences and moments, as if awaking from sleep with a heaviness caused by unremembered dreams. A despairing saint. This was the time in her life that she fell upon books as the only door out of her cell. They became half her world. The day seems to have no order until these times, which are like a ledger for her, her body full of stories and situations. The deepest sorrow…where the only way to survive is to excavate everything. Sadness is very close to hate. Let me tell you this. If you take in someone else’s poison---thinking you can cure them by sharing it--- you will instead store it within you. She never looks at herself in mirrors again. She peered into her look, trying to recognize herself. But here they were shedding their skins. The could imitate nothing but what they were. There was no defence but to look for the truth in others.
Theme
Symbolism
