Op een openbaring, dat wil zeggen op een psychische ervaring van zulk een dwingende en onverbiddelijke kracht, dat de betrokkene het gevoel heeft, niet dat hij een gedachte of een visioen heeft, maar dat een gedachte gedachte of visioen hem bezit en overweldigt.
De Engelse dichter, essayist en schrijver Stephen Spender werd geboren op 28 februari in Londen. Zie ook mijn blog van 28 februari en ook mijn blog van 28 februari Deep in the winter plain, two armies. Dig their machinery, to destroy each other. Men freeze and hunger. No one is given leave. On either side, except the dead, and wounded. These have their leave; while new battalions wait. On time at last to bring them violent peace. All have become so nervous and so cold. That each man hates the cause and distant words.
Which brought him here, more terribly than bullets. Once a boy hummed a popular marching song,. Once a novice hand flapped the salute;. The voice was choked the lifted hand fell,. Shot through the wrist by those of his own side. From their numb harvest all would flee, except.
For discipline drilled once in an iron school. Which holds them at the point of a revolver. Yet when they sleep, the images of home. Ride wishing horses of escape. Which herd the plain in a mass unspoken poem. Finally, they cease to hate: for although hate. Bursts from the air and whips the earth like hail.
Or pours it up in fountains to marvel at,. And although hundreds fell, who can connect. The inexhaustible anger of the guns. With the dumb patience of these tormented animals? Clean silence drops at night when a little walk. Divides the sleeping armies, each. Huddled in linen woven by remote hands. When the machines are stilled, a common suffering. Whitens the air with breath and makes both one. Only the lucid friend to aerial raiders,. The brilliant pilot moon, stares down.
