Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I do all day. I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be.The reference is from a poem by Robert Burns. It is also quite a beautiful poem.
I'm working on an art piece for this novel, but it's not at a place where I have much to show right now.Comin Thro' The Rye
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry:
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Comin thro' the rye, poor body,
Comin thro' the rye,
She draigl't a' her petticoatie,
Comin thro' the rye!
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need the warl' ken?
Gin a body meet a body
Comin thro' the grain;
Gin a body kiss a body,
The thing's a body's ain.
Gin a body kiss a body
Comin' thro' the grain
Need a body grudge a body
What's a body's ain
Every lassie has her laddie
Nane, they say, ha'e I
yet a' the lads they smile at me
When comin' thro' the Rye
Amang the train, there is a swain
I dearly lo'e mysel'
But whaur his hame, or what his name
I dinna care to tell
I liked that book--not excessively, though, because it evoked some of the same feelings as The Great Gatsby (which I dislike very much). I should probably follow your example and re-read it!
ReplyDeleteI actually feel the same way as Kendra. That said, I always enjoy Robert Burns stuff.
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