Grace

Jan. 7th, 2013 10:55 pm
kaberett: Lin Beifong, looking hopeful (lin-hope)
[personal profile] kaberett
These have been circling in my head for a week, now, so maybe it's time for me to put them here and see if anyone else can make sense of them.

Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer's twelve-speed bike.

The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell's chords are played away.

So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante's heaven, and melt into the air.

If it doesn't, of course, I've fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove

Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.

-- Machines, Michael Donaghy


And all the drugs in the world
Can't save us from ourselves
Victims with the saddest hearts
Passing by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

With grace we will suffer
With grace we shall recover
There by the grace of god
There by the grace of god


Lay down all your guns
Give them up and then move on
It doesn't mean that you are dead
Passing by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

With grace we will suffer
With grace we shall recover
There by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

With grace we will suffer
With grace we shall recover
There by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

There by the grace of god

And all the drugs in the world...

With grace we will suffer
With grace we shall recover
There by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

With grace we will suffer
With grace we shall recover
There by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

And all the drugs in the world
Can't save us from ourselves
Victims with the saddest hearts
Passing by the grace of god
There by the grace of god

-- There By The Grace Of God, Manic Street Preachers

(no subject)

Date: 2013-01-07 11:42 pm (UTC)
hairyears: Spilosoma viginica caterpillar: luxuriant white hair and a 'Dougal' face with antennae. Small, hairy, and venomous (Default)
From: [personal profile] hairyears
Grace is that one movement I made today was perfect: balanced, relaxed, controlled, mind and body unified.

Just one.

(no subject)

Date: 2013-01-07 11:49 pm (UTC)
forthwritten: stained glass spiral (Default)
From: [personal profile] forthwritten
I'm lucky enough to seen both of those pieces sung and spoken live. Both beautiful and bittersweet.

Michael Donaghy was amazing - one of the most stunning poets I've ever seen speak. He spoke his poems completely from memory, nothing but a glass and a jug of water beside him, and so naturally that the intricate images and his wordplay and the sheer richness of the intertextuality, his wealth of references that he used so lightly, would creep up on you and you'd suddenly "oh!" as something hit you.

He was also immensely kind to my friend and I - shy, uncertain first year undergraduates - and revealing of his vulnerabilities and anxieties. He didn't have to of course; he could have remained an aloof, brilliant poet and we would have been duly awed. But instead he told us about his nerves and how, once upon a time, the glass and the jug would have been of vodka so he could get through his poems on its offered courage.

Thank you for reminding me of him, even if I don't think this comment is what you're after.

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