elegy composed in late june (day 109)
(via)
"And out we flung and on we ran or reeled
Romeward. I have no memory of our way,
Only that, when at intervals the cloud
Of horror about me opened to let in life,
I listened to some song..."
--The Ring and the Book
Feuilleton on Meyrink's Prague.
Christmas seems a thousand miles away
& we who here interrogate the owl
cannot but call it pitiful alembic
& gurney of the gods
"To a certain ugly cloud-shape, goblin-shred" --ibid
(@svenbirkerts)
Labels: #rhime
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home