Надо было еще год назад поддаться плюшкинству и сохранить аудио-файл с нормальным чтением этого стихотворения. Но кто же знал, что качественный вариант исчезнет со всех сайтов?.. Как и текст.

       Не дает мне покоя последние 12 месяцев: Elemental Woman by Lynne Procope (.wmv или здесь с 01:15 до 05:39).

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I want to be some kind of elemental woman     the original born before my time         i have lived this life before;               on the banks of the orinoco,               the ganges,               the nile...     disbelieving the line,          because i have struggled          down freedom's road and          marched blood red streets in new york city      un-repressed by religion          even though i have burned in salem          and been stoned in jerusalem          yet still i am faithful, elemental woman. i need to be an elemental woman not for this moment but for my life. i need to stay at home, all alone on saturday nights      to know the darkness holds no monsters      beneath my bed or between my sheets      no club prowlin', no pub trawlin', I am not lookin' for your love at all      i need to stay at home all alone on saturday nights, touch myself- in long, slow searching strokes, to know the wet ain't never been about you - yet i need to be an elemental woman      tantric self expression not for you but for my self. so i search this world, for ancient shango peoples who have lived before me, who look strangely like me      follow them to the mystic places      of dry harsh grass      wide open wetlands and trees      heavy with medicinal leaves      that whisper words to me      with my ancestors breath. i go forward in constant quest for my self, die in the bush country of bahia, discover how santero drums massage the heart back to life i follow my father's ancestors in the slave rites of carnevale feasting my flesh before massa's carnivorous eyes my silent power in the knowledge that the jesuit religion will never own my soul and i will birth beautiful babies into this world -      where their color will challenge them with pain,      before pointing them down pathways      to their deaths i want to gather them all to my heart; assure them that,      'everything little thing's gonna be alright',      protect them, as my greatgrandmother's greatgrandmother never could protect her babies. {so i must be one of those free women dancing, ?,?, enjoying ? the music like my mother in the ? tuesday on everyday till that women of ? ? feel the music always screaming and unafraid to be heard more that selves- no, more that I can ever be i need to dance beside them      again and again hallelujah, hallelujah      hallelujah ringing bells of salvation from the days      of our creation to let the music take me back back to the sun ? ?} i want to be an elemental carribean      woman and i will sing a love song- i will be that love song. resonating so i can hear it sung in my      next life! a millennium from now to wonder; who that woman really was!?! that hint of melodic memory in the      minds of men who passed my pride in the street and wondered when i learned respect      was spelt-self that song-of my sisters who stood be-      side me before the mirror, to help me wash off another layer of paint and fade cream sister who stand with me now as i speak      my reality that i am the womb before the creation of space that i have recreated my self in my own image to find the spirit of the living goddess is      in me that she is me and always will be -elemental woman

       Всё, кроме текста в фигурных скобках, - с авторской пунктуацией, разбиением на строки и табуляцией (и даже издано было таким левосторонним древом). Мне нравится, как современные американские поэты играют с биением строк. Часто с удачно построенного деления начинается любовь к стихотворению. А здесь этот прием перестал был просто стилистическим и стал нести логическую нагрузку. Но вообще это не главное))

       А главное то, что много месяцев назад эти строки показали мне очень сильное архетипическое переживание и запустили его проживание во мне - к счастью, растянутое во времени (и я сейчас в начале перелома). И нужно было выдохнуть и напомнить себе, что сыр-бор разгорелся не просто так.