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This is a work in progress...as we all are
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.
I done me best when I was let. Thinking always if I go all goes. A hundred cares, a tithe of troubles and is there one who understands me? One in a thousand of years of the nights? All me life I have been lived among them but now they are becoming lothed to me. And I am lothing their little warm tricks. And lothing their mean cosy turns. And all the greedy gushes out through their small souls. And all the lazy leaks down over their brash bodies.
How small it’s all! And me letting on to meself always. And lilting on all the time. I thought you were all glittering with the noblest of carriage. You’re only a bumpkin. I thought you the great in all things, in guilt and in glory. You’re but a puny. Home !
Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry (Auden on Yeats)
All men talk, when tal they must, the same tripe (Beckett on mankind).
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new (Beckett on CM).
I have my faults, but changing my tune is not one of them.
I shall state silences more competently than ever a better man spangled the butterflies of vertigo.
If you do not love me I shall not be loved If I do not love you I shall not love.
In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.
spend the years of learning squandering
courage for the years of wandering
through a world politely turning
from the loutishness of learning."
"This tired abstract anger; inarticulate passive opposition; always the same thing in Dublin"
Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry (Auden on Yeats)
The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new....but keep the faith
Weep not my wanton
Smile upon thy knee
When thou art old
There's grief enough for thee
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