“And fiddled whisper music on those strings”
378; 20.01.10, 17:03
“A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
Whistled, and beat their wings”
377-80, V. What the Thunder Said
My father fiddles. It’s something he picked up a few years ago. The results are hit and miss, but we have a [...]
“Son of man, / You cannot say, or guess”
20-1; 14.01.10, 16:21 – alternate
“What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water.”
19-24, I. The [...]
“and I knew nothing / Looking into the heart of light, the silence”
40-1; 14.01.10, 16:23
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
38-41, I. The Burial of the Dead
When I don’t know where or what to shoot, I return to the scene of the crime – [...]
“Under the brown fog of a winter dawn”
61; 06.01.10, 7:00
“Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many”
60-63, I. The Burial of the Dead
The first work week of January began with a thick, pervasive, but ultimately photogenic fog. I ignored it Monday, became intrigued on Tuesday, and [...]
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