Friedrich Hölderlin, “Brod und Wein”


Night is a perfectly put-together bitch. Can never tell where she’s going or what she’s gonna get up to. But we’ll all follow her around, breathless and desperate Like the puny, co-dependent hipsters we are; propped up by our mutually terrified demands of one another, we’d all rather be somewhere else. But you break down and fall in line after a while, Or some douchebag dares to mansplain Night to you at a party: She deserves to be every bit as cool and popular as she is Because she is so nice to everyone, even the freaks, so composed, so aloof, so sophisticated. I need somethin’ to grab in the dark. Blessed Oblivion! I pray to St. Shitfaced May he give me boundless edgy, mysterious things to say at parties, May we get laid instead of sleep, cherish these memories forever, And never have to wake up for work in the morning. Amen.

(1807; transl. cps)

And did those feet in ancient time

And did those feet in ancient time. Walk upon England’s mountains green: And was the holy Lamb of God, On England’s 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 England’s green and pleasant Land.

(William Blake, introduction to Milton)