About Son of Man

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Not quite Petronius' Sybil

York isn't really the Cumaean Jar. It just feels like it sometimes.

DH wrote:

I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself

I do feel a bit like Aengus:

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
Must stop: First Figging because ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-- the light is not lovely.

I will find out where she has gone/and kiss her lips and take her hands/and walk among dappled grass/and pluck till time and times are done...


Blogger Terra said...

isnt 'dappled' the best word?

11:24 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Joshua, I don't understand a single sentence of this post. What's wrong with me?

12:43 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I don't understand this post OR yours, Matt!

Yours ignorantly, etc.

6:06 AM  
Blogger Amanda said...

Can't say I understand it either... enlighten us, Josh.

6:44 PM  
Blogger Beth said...

mmmm, literature. I don't think I've read any of these before - what are they from?

9:58 PM  
Blogger Lydia said...


and the song of wandering aengus.... by yeats...i think???
we'll see how much english 30ib ever helped me

3:48 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home