For Poetry Monday, something by that younger brother of the more famous Jack:
The Second Coming, W. B. Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The first poem I can remember made my pulses pound (and my hair rise) on first reading it.
---L.
Subject quote from Synchronicity II, The Police.
The Second Coming, W. B. Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The first poem I can remember made my pulses pound (and my hair rise) on first reading it.
---L.
Subject quote from Synchronicity II, The Police.
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Date: 5 August 2019 04:10 pm (UTC)'The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.'
Those two lines say so much about so much!
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Date: 6 August 2019 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 5 August 2019 04:49 pm (UTC)It was not that for me, but it was my first Yeats and I was transfixed, and still am.
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Date: 6 August 2019 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 09:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 6 August 2019 03:18 pm (UTC)