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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384063" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Man-moth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"> & nbsp; Here, above,<br>cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight.<br>The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.<br>It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,<br>and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.<br>He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,<br>feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,<br>of a temperature impossible to records in thermometers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &nbs p; But when the Man-Moth<br>pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,<br>the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges<br>from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks<br>and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.<br>He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,<br>proving the sky quite useless for protection.<br>He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">   ; Up the façades,<br>his shadow dragging like a photographer's cloth behind him<br>he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage<br>to push his small head through that round clean opening<br>and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.<br>(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)<br>But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although<br>he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &nbs p; Then he returns<br>to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,<br>he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains<br>fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.<br>The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way<br>and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,<br>without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.<br>He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> & nbsp; Each night he must<br>be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.<br>Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie<br>his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,<br>for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,<br>runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease<br>he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep<br>his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &n bsp; If you catch him,<br>hold up a flashlight to his eye. It's all dark pupil,<br>an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens<br>as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids<br>one tear, his only possession, like the bee's sting, slips.<br>Slyly he palms it, and if you're not paying attention<br>he'll swallow it. However, if you watch, he'll hand it over,<br>cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Bishop">Elizabeth Bishop</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384063" data-title="The Man-moth de Elizabeth Bishop" data-description=" & nbsp; Here, above, cracks in the buldings are filled with battered moonlight. The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat. It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on, and h..."></div> </div> </div>
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