THE MACABRE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~
 |
| "Beauty in the Macabre"
Thanks to my friend Steven for sharing this winsome cartoon. Also: The Danse Macabre ~ QK ~ A Fun Example |
And thanks to Gerry's Auntie Jan
for sending these two poems by Ted Hughes:
Sorrows of Autumn
The first sorrow of autumn is the slow good-bye of the garden that stands so long in the evening—a brown poppy head, the stalk of a lily, and still cannot go.
The second sorrow is the empty feet of a pheasant who hangs from a hook with his brothers. The woodland of gold is folded in feathers with its head in a bag.
And the third sorrow is the slow good-bye of the sun who has gathered the birds and who gathers the minutes of evening, the golden and holy ground of the picture.
The fourth sorrow is the pond gone black, ruined, and sunken the city of water — the beetle's palace, the catacombs of the dragonfly.
And the fifth sorrow is the slow good-bye of the woodland that quietly breaks up its camp. One day it's gone. It has only left litter — firewood, tent poles.
And the sixth sorrow is the fox's sorrow, the joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds, the hooves that pound; till earth closes her ear to the fox's prayer.
And the seventh sorrow is the slow good-bye of the face with its wrinkles that looks through the window as the year packs up like a tatty fairground that came for the children.
Leaves
Who’s killed the leaves?
Me, says the apple, I’ve killed them all.
Fat as a bomb or a cannonball
I’ve killed the leaves.
Who sees them drop?
Me, says the pear, they will leave me all bare
So all the people can point and stare.
I see them drop.
Who’ll catch their blood?
Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow.
I’ll get so rotund that they’ll need a wheelbarrow.
I’ll catch their blood.
Who’ll make their shroud?
Me, says the swallow, there’s just time enough
Before I must pack all my spools and be off.
I’ll make their shroud.
Who’ll dig their grave?
Me, says the river, with the power of the clouds
A brown deep grave I’ll dig under my floods.
I’ll dig their grave.
Who’ll be their parson?
Me, says the Crow, for it is well-known
I study the bible right down to the bone.
I’ll be their parson.
Who’ll be chief mourner?
Me, says the wind, I will cry through the grass
The people will pale and go cold when I pass.
I’ll be chief mourner.*
Who’ll carry the coffin?
Me, says the sunset, the whole world will weep
To see me lower it into the deep.
I’ll carry the coffin.
Who’ll sing a psalm?
Me, says the tractor, with mu gear grinding glottle
I’ll plough Up the stubble and sing through my throttle.
I’ll sing the psalm.
Who’ll toll the bell?
Me, says the robin, my song in October
Will tell the still gardens the leaves are over.
I’ll toll the bell.
By Ted Hughes (1930 - 1988)
*my favorite lines!
Some of the user comments said that
"the sticker designs are too eerie & creepy" -- or
"why have they mixed in the grotesque with the romantic?"
Well, guess what -- that's why we love them, right?!?!
Exactly the same thing my friend Vicki said
about her new note cards from her friend Emmy:
"elegant, gothic, pagan, feminist, organic, spooky"!
Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 14th
Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com
Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com
No comments:
Post a Comment