torsdag 1 maj 2014

The Second coming

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
        

    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: a waste of desert sand;
    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
    Wind 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 Tiger

William Blake. 1757–1827
  
  
TIGER, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 
 
In what distant deeps or skies      
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 
On what wings dare he aspire? 
What the hand dare seize the fire? 
 
And what shoulder and what art 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 
And when thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand and what dread feet? 
 
What the hammer? what the chain? 
In what furnace was thy brain? 
What the anvil? What dread grasp 
Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 
 
When the stars threw down their spears, 
And water'd heaven with their tears, 
Did He smile His work to see? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 
 
Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
In the forests of the night, 
What immortal hand or eye 
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 
 

onsdag 12 mars 2014

The Fly

Anna Carlbro




High pitched buzzing from a dying fly
Eruptions of sudden frenzy
Fly, dance for me, then die
You’ve got your boards
See, the ray of sun is yours
I, your watchful audience in silent admiration
This is your time
Your brief moment of infinite time
My life like yours is a fragment of the Universe
An unseen passage out of darkness into darkness