TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The Tiger, by William Blake. 1757–1827
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{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
Top class webpage sincerely, Aubrey Bailly
John,
Really love your work so far, but you're wrong about Blake. Saw his paintings shown in Oxford and at the Met in NYC. Maybe not "polished", but transcendent. And meaty. And daring. You might want to give them another chance.
FYI: I like his poetry, too, but I would't defend it as "all that." My tastes run more to the moderns or, oddly, the Victorians.
I'm wrong about the fact that I don't like Blake's painting? Oh. How weird. I thought I felt that way.
John,
Really love your work so far, but you're wrong about Blake. Saw his paintings shown in Oxford and at the Met in NYC. Maybe not "polished", but transcendent. You might want to give them another chance.
FYI: I like his poetry, too, but I would't defend it as "all that."
@Greta
Thanks. You are right, sister. Maybe some day the good shepherd will finally lead me to that point in my path where my responses will be less my own, and more His. I am a work in progress. As for "good people" coming around the Woods family, Luke 18:19 would instead have me praying that Christ alone would be their rock and fortress. The very people we might be tempted to label "good" simply by virtue of their status in Jesus, could end up being no more helpful than myself. : )
John and Tim, it's the whole idea of having 'fun at someone else's expence'.
My nature instead would be to encourage the man as he attempts to fix what he has broken…
My prayer for Tiger and his wife is for trust to be reborn…that good people will come around the family…that he gets appropriate help for his 'addiction'.
Bless you both, John and Tim!
I LOVE (most of the work of) the Romantic-era poets. But for the life of me, I can't understand why William Blake is famous. To my mind, he's about as good a poet as he is painter.
When the Tiger mess first hit the fan, those were the first words that came to mind, and I've never been much of William Blake fan. I was one of those English majors that just endured the romantics and moved on.
@Greta—
If the tables turn on me
I'll surely laugh and slap my knee
For just shy of two years ago
My wife left me for worker "co"
So try to understand my poke
I think unfaithfulness no joke
So if my judgment seem to drastic
You're probably right, I am bombastic
Have a blest week.
Whoa, Tim. That was pretty fully awesome. NICE.
Red: FUNNY!
Greta: But surely you liked Tim's poem a LITTLE? Quite extremely well done, didn't you think?
Oh ye poets, wist thee not,
that those who judge, poking fun a lot,
will soon be found in that same spot.
The tables will turn and you will be the one they laugh at gleefuly.
Words , like chickens, come home to roost . . .
so stay your tongue…give yourself a boost.
greta sheppard/2009 /12/12/
You know that else burns?
Chalmydia.
So I've heard, anyway.
Not sure if that's exactly how Tiger was burning but it seems probable.
Tiger, Tiger, beat to hell
Swollen bumps and torn lapel,
What teutonic Nordegren
Has the strength of many men?
Prone aside yon Escalade
Knocked out cold by wife betrayed
Neighbour dialing 9-1-1
Tiger's nightmare has begun
And what vacant toothy smile
Betrays a heart so rich with guile?
And when thy wife began to beat,
What savaged limbs O' famous cheat?
What the reason? what the frick?
Wast thou thinking with thy prick?
What the nine-iron in wife's grip
Interrupts thine ego-trip?
When the FOX and CNN
Bore the tale to thy chagrin
Didst I chuckle deep below?
Yea I did, and ever so
Tiger, Tiger beat to hell
To the game ye bid farewell
What teutonic Nordegren
Has your focus once again?
Tiger, by Tim Arnold. 1954—
Apologies to William Blake