March’s poem
“I yuv pacifiers,” says Samuel, who has long been weaned of them. I caught him pulling a pacifier out of Daniel’s mouth and taking a little “drag” from it.
Lately he’s been reciting: “Dickory dickory dock / The mouse ran up the clock …”; and, especially, “Dickory dickory dare / The pig flew up in the air / The man in brown / Soon brought him down / Dickory dickory dare.” (Wells’s illustration shows a wallpaper pattern of pigs flying WWI planes, as in Porco Rosso.)
Today, Samuel began composing a new poem: “Dickory dickory dickens.” Karin & I extended it: “Someone let loose the chickens / The chickens were sad / Because they were bad / Dickory dickory dickens.”
But none of them is March’s poem. That is a poem of Blake’s, the one made into the hymn “Jerusalem.” Like a pop song, it pleases each person who gives it his own interpretation. Is the poem about industrialization? The C of E? You can mean it however you like, so long as it is about England (or “England”).
Lately he’s been reciting: “Dickory dickory dock / The mouse ran up the clock …”; and, especially, “Dickory dickory dare / The pig flew up in the air / The man in brown / Soon brought him down / Dickory dickory dare.” (Wells’s illustration shows a wallpaper pattern of pigs flying WWI planes, as in Porco Rosso.)
Today, Samuel began composing a new poem: “Dickory dickory dickens.” Karin & I extended it: “Someone let loose the chickens / The chickens were sad / Because they were bad / Dickory dickory dickens.”
But none of them is March’s poem. That is a poem of Blake’s, the one made into the hymn “Jerusalem.” Like a pop song, it pleases each person who gives it his own interpretation. Is the poem about industrialization? The C of E? You can mean it however you like, so long as it is about England (or “England”).
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And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands mountains green
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?
Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem
In Englands green & pleasant Land
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