Saturday, 30 November 2013

William Blake

I've always liked William Blake---- his dreamy paintings, his honest poems and his 'out-there' vision, and so when I (almost by chance) found out that he was buried in Bunhill Fields in the City of London I was shocked! 

 William Blake, ‘Satan in his Original Glory: 'Thou wast Perfect till Iniquity was Found in Thee'’ c.1805

I went to visit his grave on a weekday afternoon and I remember sitting on a bench with a friend, watching as a whole procession of suits almost charged by. I just sat there with a faint smile on my face, thinking about how ironic it was that William Blake, the Romanatic poet I grew up reading, was buried there or all places, in the centre of this city buzzing with soulless bankers and corporate cogs! It was almost prophetic, and quite inexplicable. Then unknown, and now -here- still, (un-)known.... Below is one of Blake's famous poem's 'London.'



I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow. 
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infants cry of fear,
In every voice: in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear 

How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every blackning Church appalls, 
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls 

But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new-born Infants tear 
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse