Category: blake

Dead Like Blake

So I was reading William Blake to my son in the cemetery . . . again.  I have definitely become intrigued by his style as well as what I take to be an inversion of whatever popular form of Christianity he was encountering with a consecrated notion of evil.  Mixed with this is a lingering taste of existentialism that I always have more than a slight craving for.  This readings selections;

The final fragment of The Everlasting Gospel

The vision of Christ that thou dost see
Is my Vision’s Greatest Enemy.
Thine has a great hook nose like thine;
Mine has a snub nose like mine.
Thine is the friend of All Mankind;
Mine speaks in parables to the Blind.
Thine loves the same world that mine hates;
Thy Heaven Doors are my Hell Gates.
Socrates taught what Melitus
Loathed as a Nation’s bitterest Curse,
And Caiaphas was in his own Mind
A benefactor of Mankind.
Both read the Bible day & night,
But thou read’st black where I read white.

Plate 14 of The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

The ancient tradition that the world will be consumed in fire at the end of six thousands years is true, as I have heard from Hell.

For the cherub with his flaming sword is hereby commanded to leave his guard at the tree of life; and when he does, the whole creation will be consumed and appear infinite and holy, whereas it now appears finite & corrupt.

This will come to pass by an improvement of sensual enjoyment.

But first the notion that man has a body distinct from his soul is to be expunged; this I shall do by printing in the infernal method, by corrosives, which in Hell are salutary and medicinal, melting apparent surfaces away and displaying the infinite which was hid.

If the doors of perception were cleansed, every thing would appear to man as it is, infinite.

For man has closed himself up, till he sees all things through narrow chinks of his cavern.

The only problem I perceive encountering in Blake is his genius . . . it may be too much or too little for me I am not sure yet.

Before I Knew It . . .

I went for a walk this afternoon with Salem.  I usually head out to our local thrift store and check out the used books.  I picked up a collection of poems and prose by William Blake.  On my way back I often to stop at an area that has lots of shade and grass for Salem to crawl around on.  Before I knew it I realized that I was reading William Blake aloud to my 11 month old in a cemetery.  Pray for the boy . . .

A couple of excerpts from Blake though,

The Clod and the Pebble

“Love seeketh not Itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.”

So sang a little Clod of Clay,
Trodden with the cattle’s feet,
But a Pebble of the brook
Warbled out these metres meet:

“Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another’s loss of ease
And builds a Hell in Heaven’s despite.”

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Though shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,

And I saw it was filled with graves
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And Priests in black gowns were walking their rounds
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

I am slowly re-entering some poetic works but I find I need quite simple rhythm to feel like I am engaging them.  I know it is likely my inability or impatience that keeps me from further exploration but for now pieces like this are very satisfying.