Waking up in Boston
I'm on a quick trip to Boston and Providence.
When was the last time I was a tourist by myself? I feel like I've forgotten how to just be me on the road.
Anyhow, this is a nice start.
Poem Time: Wilde's "The Theatre at Argos"
The Theatre at Argos (by Oscar Wilde) Nettles and poppy mar each rock-hewn seat: No poet crowned with olive deathlessly Chants his glad song, nor clamorous Tragedy Startles the air; green corn is waving sweet Where once the Chorus danced to measures fleet; Far to the East a purple stretch of sea, The cliffs of gold that prisoned Danae; And desecrated Argos at my feet. No season now to mourn the days of old, A nation's shipwreck on the rocks of Time, Or the dread storms of all-devouring Fate, For now the peoples clamour at our gate, The world is full of plague and sin and crime, And God Himself is half-dethroned for Gold! Man that last couplet is killer. Sure, we visit a ruin of a once-vaulted place and are reminded of how things fall apart as time marches on. But then Wilde slaps me in the face with the ugliness of our current era. There's corruption and rot everywhere, not just in the cracks and weeds of
Comments
Post a Comment