Tournez, Tournez, Bon Chevaux De Bois
Turn, turn again,
Ape's blood in each vein!
The people that pass
Seem castles of glass,
The old and the good
Giraffes of the blue wood,
The soldier, the nurse,
Wooden-face and a curse,
Are shadowed with plumage
Like birds, by the gloomage.
Blond hair like a clown's
The music floats—drowns
The creaking of ropes,
The breaking of hopes,
The wheezing, the old,
Like harmoniums scold;
Go to Babylon, Rome,
The brain-cells called home,
The grave, new Jerusalem—
Wrinkled Methusalem!
From our floating hair
Derived the first fair
And queer inspiration
Of music, the nation
Of bright-plumed trees
And harpy-shrill breeze . . .
* * * *
Turn, turn again,
Ape's blood in each vein!
– Edith Sitwell (British poet, 1887-1964)
The lines "The people that pass / Seem castles of glass" reminded me of Cervantes' tale, "El licenciado Vidriera."
I had intended to write something more interesting today, but I lost my motivation. It might be under the pile of papers on my desk.
[daily log: walking, 6km]