- Re: Naughty John! Mangling the great Yorkshire poet (with the Cymreig name :) )... NOM Archived Message
Posted by johnlilburne
on January 2, 2020, 12:45 am, in reply to "Naughty John! Mangling the great Yorkshire poet (with the Cymreig name :) )... NOM"
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I know I'm bad, very bad, but not as bad and as mad as the mad-cap poet of the moors, the moors that spawned his genius. I like this section of Crow, especially the first bit: CROW ALIGHTS Crow saw the herded mountains, steaming in the morning. And he saw the sea Dark-spined, with the whole earth in its coils. He saw the stars, fuming away into the black, mushrooms of the nothing forest, clouding their spores, the virus of God. He shivered with the horror of Creation. In the hallucination of the horror He saw this shoe, with no sole, rain-sodden, Lying on a moor. And there was this garbage can, bottom rusted away, A playing place for the wind, in a waste of puddles. There was this coat, in the dark cupboard, in the silent room, in the silent house. There was this face, smoking its cigarette between the dusk window and the fire's embers. Near the face, this hand, motionless. Near the hand, this cup. Crow blinked. He blinked. Nothing faded. He stared at the evidence. Nothing escaped him. (Nothing could escape.) |