The bow and the lyre


[Durer - St. Jerome in His Study]

Re-discovering Eliot through a re-discovery of Heraclitus and my reading of Durrell:

[...] There is, it seems to us,
At best, only a limited value

In the knowledge derived from experience.

The knowledge imposes a pattern, and falsifies,
For the pattern is new in every moment

And every moment is a new and shocking
Valuation of all we have been. We are only undeceived

Of that which, deceiving, could no longer harm.

In the middle, not only in the middle of the way

But all the way, in a dark wood, in a bramble,

On the edge of a grimpen, where is no secure foothold,

And menaced by monsters, fancy lights,

Risking enchantment. Do not let me hear

Of the wisdom of old men, but rather of their folly,

Their fear of fear and frenzy, their fear of possession,

Of belonging to another, or to others, or to God.

The only wisdom we can hope to acquire
Is the wisdom of humility: humility is endless.

The houses are all gone under the sea.


The dancers are all gone under the hill.