The Second Coming
Jul. 4th, 2015 10:45 amFollowing on form my previous poem post, i have noted how much Yeats means to members of this LJ community. so here is a second poem by him and one which in my opinion , tangentially foreshadows the final few episodes of Buffy season 6 from "Seeing Red", the fatal gunshot ricochet that kills Tara caused by Warren ("The Trio" of nerds). Before this tragedy , Tara reconnects with Willow , and prefiguring entropy , says to Willow "Things Fall Apart". After the fatal shot Willow's eyes turns to red like the spatter of red blood on her clothes where the bullet goes through Tara, let alone the fatal wounding of Buffy. This is the turning point where the darkness of black magic turns Willow , anarchy and chaos is loosed upon the world.
The Second Coming was written in 1919, a year after the calamitous First World War.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The Second Coming was written in 1919, a year after the calamitous First World War.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?