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"Mallarmé himself formulates this criticism: he is at an impasse because he has the wrong ptyx. The great enigma that he poses to later poets, and on which we must meditate indefinitely, is therefore the following: where can we find the right ptyx?" (via Google translate)

"Grodek

At evening the woods of autumn are full of the sound
Of the weapons of death, golden fields
And blue lakes, over which the darkening sun
Rolls down; night gathers in
Dying recruits, the animal cries
Of their burst mouths.
Yet a red cloud, in which a furious god,
The spilled blood itself, has its home, silently
Gathers, a moonlike coolness in the willow bottoms;
All the roads spread out into the black mold.
Under the gold branches of the night and stars
The sister’s shadow falters through the diminishing
   grove,
To greet the ghosts of the heroes, bleeding heads;
And from the reeds the sound of the dark flutes of
   autumn rises.
O prouder grief! you bronze altars,
The hot flame of the spirit is fed today by a more
   monstrous pain,
The unborn grandchildren."

—Wright & Bly's Trakl

The author explaining the text.

“Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring. Imaginary good is boring; real good is always new, marvelous, intoxicating.”

― Simone Weil via @lizamazel.bsky.social

For the first time in 600 years.