(December 31, 2018 at 10:24 pm)Belaqua Wrote: OK, here's another one I read at the laundromat just now. This is by Christina Rossetti.
Ten years ago it seemed impossible
That she should ever grow as calm as this,
With self-remembrance in her warmest kiss
And dim dried eyes like an exhausted well.
Slow-speaking when she has some fact to tell,
Silent with long unbroken silences,
Centred in self yet not unpleased to please,
Gravely monotonous like a passing bell.
Mindful of drudging daily common things,
Patient at pastime, patient at her work,
Weary perhaps but strenuous certainly.
Sometimes I fancy that we may one day see
Her head shoot forth seven stars from where they lurk
And her eyes lightnings and her shoulders wings.
Everything we learn about this poet and this poem add to its richness: the woman it was written about; the fact that, from our perspective it seems to describe Rossetti as well; the everyday language of most of the poem, that erupts into quotations from Revelation in the couplet; the fact that it is so British and avoids the influence of Ruskin which had so much effect on her brother and his circle; the seriousness of her religion which set her apart from the Bohemians among whom she lived.
I honestly can't imagine how neuroscience could tell us anything at all about all this.
I dont need to know, Knowledge may spoil all the pleasure I feel during reading this beautiful text
leave me in my Paradise Ignorance ... with NO quistion.
