'The dove descending breaks the air
With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre or pyre-
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
Who then devised the torment? Love.
Love is the unfamiliar Name
Behind the hands that wove
The intolerable shirt of flame
Which human power cannot remove.
We only live, only suspire
Consumed by either fire or fire.'
T.S.Eliot
i have to meditate on this.
it sounds true one way,
and in more light
it does not feel so true.
it sounds so deep,
a 'shirt of flame',
but then what may
the neighbourhood of love
and torment mean here?
our journey through life
and death, the phoenix
born out of ashes,
essence born in joy and
suffering dancing
in the wind of ? God?
= Love?
I am still quite puzzled.
to wonder..:
then it must be a good poem.
i cannot bring myself to analyze it
into dead things nor to construct
a final meaning. it comes out of a flow..
and i try once again to feel into it...
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