Jan. 21st, 2017

incandescens: (Kanzeon Bosatsu)
Well... that was a week.

Down to London tomorrow - my uncle's visiting England from Australia, and I may not see him again for quite a while if I don't go and do it now. (Yes, this is somewhat inconvenient and was at very short notice. I will cheer myself up by doing some shopping afterwards.)

Anyhow. It's the weekend. Things to do. Life to be getting on with.

---

Musée des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;

How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

-- WH Auden

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