"Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves
Earnest, earthless, equal, attuneable, · vaulty, voluminous, . . . stupendous
Evening strains to be time’s vást, · womb-of-all, home-of-all, hearse-of-all night.
Her fond yellow hornlight wound to the west, · her wild hollow hoarlight hung to the height
Waste; her earliest stars, earl-stars, · stárs principal, overbend us,
Fíre-féaturing heaven. For earth · her being as unbound, her dapple is at an end, as-
tray or aswarm, all throughther, in throngs; · self ín self steepèd and páshed – quite
Disremembering, dísmémbering, · áll now. Heart, you round me right
With: Óur évening is over us; óur night · whélms, whélms, ánd will end us.
Only the beak-leaved boughs dragonish · damask the tool-smooth bleak light; black,
Ever so black on it. Óur tale, O óur oracle! · Lét life, wáned, ah lét life wind
Off hér once skéined stained véined varíety · upon áll on twó spools; párt, pen, páck
Now her áll in twó flocks, twó folds – black, white; · right, wrong; reckon but, reck but, mind
But thése two; wáre of a wórld where bút these · twó tell, each off the óther; of a rack
Where, selfwrung, selfstrung, sheathe- and shelterless, · thóughts agaínst thoughts ín groans grínd."
--Gerard Manley Hopkins (via @jorie_graham)
"Both the dish and the stone deal in the transmission of signals through time – though whether our current civilisation is advanced enough to correctly interpret them is open to question." – Dr. K. Brophy (via @HooklandGuide)
This is deeply personal story being told in small parts, small acts, subtitled scenes.
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