каждый человек — это остров
12:34 | 12-10-2011 | Lifeform, Metaphysics | No Comments
Joyce Carol Vincent, 38, died in her North London flat in 2003; her skeleton was found three years later, on the sofa; the television was still on, and a pile of unopened Christmas presents lay on the floor. The story was mentioned briefly in the press, but then forgotten.
как сказал поэт, “мы, оглядываясь, видим лишь руины”:
I ordered up the film of the concert, Nelson Mandela, International Tribute for a Free South Africa, from the BFI National Archive. I trawled through it, ever hopeful, constantly pausing when I spotted anyone remotely resembling Joyce. After a few fruitless hours I began to prepare myself for disappointment when the programme cut from the stadium crowds to Nelson Mandela backstage, addressing the musicians who had taken part in the show. As he ended his passionate speech they cheered in appreciation, and there was a cut to a wide shot from the rear of the room – featuring an array of backs of heads.
And then I saw her.
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She was 26 years old, ambitious, beautiful, full of hope for the future. She had her whole life ahead of her but in 13 years she would die and nobody would know and nobody would notice.
одна история на всех.