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poliphilo Edith Sitwell is Blakeian. Her poems, like the Prophetic Books, are mythological, bardic, circling- like jazz- round certain ideas/images/words: They are profound and gorgeous- and they've dropped right out of favour.
They didn't jive with the kitchen-sinkery of the later 20th century. Nobody's fault, just a ripple in the history of taste. I think they will come back.
They should.
I'm working- slowly and with attention- through a collection she put together at the end of World War Two. It's called The Song of the Cold.
And in the poem titled "Eurydice" there's a line I have loved ever since I first came across it fifty years ago and have quoted in sermons and conversations and blogs. I knew it was hers but not where it came from and am thrilled to have finally pinned it down. It goes, "Love is not changed by death and nothing is lost, and all in the end is harvest."
They didn't jive with the kitchen-sinkery of the later 20th century. Nobody's fault, just a ripple in the history of taste. I think they will come back.
They should.
I'm working- slowly and with attention- through a collection she put together at the end of World War Two. It's called The Song of the Cold.
And in the poem titled "Eurydice" there's a line I have loved ever since I first came across it fifty years ago and have quoted in sermons and conversations and blogs. I knew it was hers but not where it came from and am thrilled to have finally pinned it down. It goes, "Love is not changed by death and nothing is lost, and all in the end is harvest."
