Once I saw a Devil in a flame of fire.....
In my ongoing attempts to 'improve' myself - which begs certain questions - I am on a train to London reading John Higgs's little book, William Blake Now, a book which endears itself to me on various levels - not least because it raises questions about the self-importance of Tracey Emin.
I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
I am in Tate Britain. One of the greatest monuments to slavery yet to be torn down.....
Paula Rego (with whom, incidentally, I share a birthday.... yeah, why should you care, though perhaps you will remember it now?) articulates outrage and echoes some of Blake's concerns:
I call this selfie, Self-immolation, and append William Blake's poem: A Divine Image
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;
Musée des Beaux Arts
W. H. Auden
There is so much to learn, and I have squandered so much time.
(But some of it has been fun..... and I will dance with Paula Rego and sing with Blake.....)