2005.01.16 Lonely Tyger
S sent me a postcard with this image on it, saying that it makes her think of me. Studying it, I feel that I can understand why.
A centimeter of ice coats every outdoor surface, such that even negotiating the parking lot to the mailbox is a significant undertaking. So I lounge. I'm comfortable, but with a flickering fire of restlessness. If I had a long tail, it might adopt a sinuous twitch. I imagine that my eyes might seem baleful at first, but actually wistful upon further regard. I do miss S terribly, magnified by the portent that these distant interviews bring.
I'm not sure if appearance is quite what she meant, though. I suspect that she might be referring to a time early in our courtship where I quoted Blake's Tyger Tyger in a moment of blossoming accord.
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire,
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
I realize that Blake was positing about the existence of god with that poem, but you have to admit that it works to resonate with any feelings of awe. And, well, that represents my feelings about S pretty well.