Poetry

The Sick Rose

O rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night
In the howling storm


Has found out they bed
Of crimson joy,
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

William Blake

My sister is delighted that my next module will be poetry. As I write she is out collecting books (poetry books that is) that she thinks I will need. When we spoke earlier she suggested that I look up this very popular poem by William Blake and explained to me, very patiently, the academic thinking behind it. It seems that the poem shares the common motifs of death and destruction, telling of a rose that has reached the end of its lifespan in the advent of the creeping winter. Hmmm...

I can see the words of the second verse are beautiful words, but what does it all mean? Unless you understand what poems mean, how can you write one? Perhaps that is what I will be learning, to understand it. Thank heavens it is prose as well!

Having handed in my assignment Ruby Beeswax Goes To The Seaside, I feel bereft. I am missing her antics! Considering I spent the last few days cursing her existence, I am quite surprised at myself!