I find myself, within minutes, with a haiku that reads “Ah, chrysanthemum / in front of you the scissors / doubt for a moment” and Yeats verses, “The best lack all conviction /while the worst / they are full of passionate intensity”.
The haiku makes me think there may be a second of Justice, that hawks may turn into doves when confronted with certain symponts of beauty. Yeats verses are more definite and defining of this chaos on which we live. In the end, hawks, give it the name-predator, after flying so much far away and round the hawkman, let´s say God, we are nothing but announcing with out behaviour a second coming, let´s say the dove in the following poem below.
To Yeats, a weird one due to his esoterism, I arrived myself walking down Morrison St, another weid one, who ended up being as well present. I found it this time in the-last-before-the.-last chapter ot The Sopranos, which has the title of this poem.
For optimistics, the Spanish poet Machado, Antonio, of course “Today it is always, yet” I don´t know if to think like that you need conviction or passionate intensity.
THE SECOND COMING
William Butler Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center 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 the 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 craddle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The haiku makes me think there may be a second of Justice, that hawks may turn into doves when confronted with certain symponts of beauty. Yeats verses are more definite and defining of this chaos on which we live. In the end, hawks, give it the name-predator, after flying so much far away and round the hawkman, let´s say God, we are nothing but announcing with out behaviour a second coming, let´s say the dove in the following poem below.
To Yeats, a weird one due to his esoterism, I arrived myself walking down Morrison St, another weid one, who ended up being as well present. I found it this time in the-last-before-the.-last chapter ot The Sopranos, which has the title of this poem.
For optimistics, the Spanish poet Machado, Antonio, of course “Today it is always, yet” I don´t know if to think like that you need conviction or passionate intensity.
THE SECOND COMING
William Butler Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the center 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 the 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 craddle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
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