214
by kokorodoko
Lord Byron's Cain provides a remarkable contrast to Paradise Lost. I apologize for being a philistine - the works are two centuries apart and of different forms, but I place them in the mental category of "classically inspired English writers who use a lot of words".
In Cain, the sentences flow, sparkle and dance. Fun to read aloud. My Lucifer voice ended up sounding like James Earl Jones.
Cain. Thou speak'st to me of things which long have swum
In visions through my thought : I never could
Reconcile what I saw with what I heard.
My father and my mother talk to me
Of serpents, and of fruits and trees : I see
The gates of what they call their paradise
Guarded by fiery-sworded Cherubim,
Which shut them out - and me : I feel the weight
Of daily toil, and constant thought : I look
Around a world where I seem nothing, with
Thoughts which arise within me, as if they
Could master all things - but I thought alone
This misery was mine.
Cain. Whom have we here? - A shape like to the angels
Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect
Of spiritual essence : why do I quake?
Why should I fear him more than other spirits,
Whom I see daily wave their fiery swords
Before the gates round which I linger oft,
In Twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of those
Gardens which are my just inheritance
Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls
And the immortal trees which overtop
The Cherubim-defended battlements?
Lucifer. Souls who dare use their immortality -
Souls who dare look the Omnipotent tyrant in
His everlasting face, and tell him that
His evil is not good ! If he has made,
As he saith - which I know not, nor believe -
But, if he made us - he cannot unmake :
We are immortal ! - nay, he'd have us so,
That he may torture - let him ! He is great -
But, in his greatness, is no happier than
We in our conflict ! Goodness would not make
Evil, and what else hath he made? But let him
Sit on his vast and solitary throne -
Creating worlds, to make eternity
Less burthensome to his immense existence
And unparticipated solitude ;
Let him crowd orb on orb : he is alone
Indefinite, Indissoluble Tyrant ;
Could he but crush himself ; 'twere the best boon
He ever granted : but let him reign on !
And multiply himself in misery !
Spirits and Men, at least we sympathise
And, suffering in concert, make our pangs
Innumerable, more endurable,
By the unbounded sympathy of all
With all ! But He ! so wretched in his height,
So restless in his wretchedness, must still
Create, and re-create - perhaps he'll make
One day a Son unto himself - as he,
Gave you a father - and If he so doth,
Mark me ! that Son will be a sacrifice !
- - -
Also reading Solaris and I'm into it. Powerful mood right away. Something unsettling strikes me immediately and it continues to hang there. Reminds me of some early text adventures. I would assume Lem has many apprentices.
- - -
Also recently started on Bolaño's 2666. A thousand page book is pretty intimidating for someone not a frequent fiction reader like me, but it's easy to get into - I read 70 pages on the first day. I have absolutely no idea how this story will play out, which is fun.
born to give