Reading Blake

When I was a young boy, very, very young, I read Blake under trees and in the
shelter of rocks. I could smell the salty breeze of the ocean. I felt as large
as the ocean, like Whitman or Yevtushenko. “The Tyger” emerged from the foam of
the waves, at noontime, not the forest of the night. Was it because of The
Tyger that I still seek symmetry? In vain. Tyger, then as now, chaos. Chaos
that I am. Fearful symmetry.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s