Saturday, June 16, 2012
From: The Floating Bridge Of Dreams - Black Calla
"they often long for what could render all questions useless, or so they seem to believe: a single, perfect - because beyond any naming, untouched by the notion of presence - flower.
at other times, though, they find themselves longing for neither the flower nor the skin against which it rests. they seem to yearn for precisely that which only a word could bring into presence, the contrast between the dark of the petal and the ivory shimmer of skin. a single word, which could, then, redeem their lives, even if for just one moment, the perfect moment when the shadow of the black calla merges with the warmth of flesh."
Monday, June 11, 2012
|Crow Blacker Than Ever|
When God, disgusted with man,
Turned towards heaven,
And man, disgusted with God,
Turned towards Eve,
Things looked like falling apart.
But Crow.. Crow
Crow nailed them together,
Nailing heaven and earth together-
So man cried, but with God's voice.
And God bled, but with man's blood.
Then heaven and earth creaked at the joint
Which became gangrenous and stank-
A horror beyond redemption.
The agony did not diminish.
Man could not be man nor God God.
Crying: "This is my Creation,"
Flying the black flag of himself.
By Ted Hughes. From the Life and Songs of the Crow (London: Faber & Faber, 1970)