Recently I read Susan Sontag's WHERE THE STRESS FALLS, 2001. The impression is a little different with the other books.
I was never the good reader of her, but her existence was always strong and had glittered.
The time was Sixties that contained the infinite things in it.
Now I am enough old for remembering the time.
She wrote a fine essay on the time, Thirty Years Later ... , 1996. The pages are short but sufficient to describe the time that was infinite and endless.
Her life was probably shiny in those days, while my Sixties was always under the tiny dim light.
At the place where I was, the long view never could be seen. I never thought on the things as I was very coward and was fluttered even at the very tiny event of the time. I was infirm and timidity.
What I could do at that time was to read or turn the pages of the text books of some foreign languages.
How little and shallow heart I had, pitiable and poor existence. Probably till now.
I was never the good reader of her, but her existence was always strong and had glittered.
The time was Sixties that contained the infinite things in it.
Now I am enough old for remembering the time.
She wrote a fine essay on the time, Thirty Years Later ... , 1996. The pages are short but sufficient to describe the time that was infinite and endless.
Her life was probably shiny in those days, while my Sixties was always under the tiny dim light.
At the place where I was, the long view never could be seen. I never thought on the things as I was very coward and was fluttered even at the very tiny event of the time. I was infirm and timidity.
What I could do at that time was to read or turn the pages of the text books of some foreign languages.
How little and shallow heart I had, pitiable and poor existence. Probably till now.
Tokyo
27 September 2012
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