Towards Better Democracy

Good words, well written, better the world. Good literature betters the world immeasurably.

Carrion Comfort, Gerard Manley Hopkins


Not, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist – slack they may be – these last strands of man
In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wich day come, not choose not to be.

But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my buisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear,
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, cheer.

Cheer whóm though? The héro whose heáven-handling flúng me, fóot tród
Me? Or mé that fóught him? O whích one? is it eách one? That níght, that year
Of now done darkness I wretched lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Malcolm D B Munro
Friday November 27, 2020

Filed under: art

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