Tuesday, October 03, 2006

herbert

holy smokes. perhaps literally.

from "AFFLICTION (IV)" by George Herbert

BROKEN in pieces all asunder,
Lord, hunt me not,
A thing forgot,
Once a poor creature, now a wonder,
A wonder tortured in the space
Betwixt this world and that of grace.

My thoughts are all a case of knives,
Wounding my heart
With scattered smart ;
As wat'ring-pots give flowers their lives.
Nothing their fury can control,
While they do wound and prick my soul.



Don't have much time to pick at it tonight, but I love "My thoughts are all a case of knives." It reminds me of that Daniel line I remarked on earlier ("My thoughts, like hounds, pursue me to my death") but along with the pain and danger, there's an element of passivity. A (whole) case of knives is a lot of knives, but knives in a case are still put up.

Likewise:
a wonder tortured in the space/ betwixt this world and that of grace