Scribbles, &c.


Somewhere in these unending wastes of delirium is a lost child,
      speaking of Long Ago in the language of wounds.
To-morrow, perhaps, he will come to himself in Heaven.
But here Grief turns her silence, neither in this direction, nor
      in that, nor for any reason.
And her coldness now is on earth forever.

— Auden, For the Time Being

I have been reading and re-reading For the Time Being all throughout this past Advent. How it’s managed to escape my attention all these years is beyond me. I have to credit W.H. Auden’s Cure for the Post-Christmas Blues by Jeff Reimer for piquing my curiosity, and I was mighty glad to see the oratorio included in an Auden collection I already owned but had only glanced through a few times since buying it. Serves me right I suppose.