9.27.2012

Blake / Stevens

Struck last night by the similarity of Blake's passages re: cry in the four Los poems (Book, Songs, and the two in Four Zoas):

"they sing unceasing to the notes of my immortal hand.
...
Reverberates the living harmony...

[The Deep] lost in infinite humming wings, vanishes with a cry.
The fading cry is ever dying;
The living voice is ever living in its inmost joy."

The last two stanzas of this particular poem seem to have a similarity to T.S. Eliot:


9.24.2012

an aubade

even if it begins in the afternoon,
even if the night ends when the sum begins to make the eastern sky blush a little

parallel rewriting