Panels of this kind were placed on the walls of houses to warn against the plague. A plague epidemic raged in Augsburg, Germany, between 1607 and 1636.
“Atlantis,” by W. H. Auden
“Atlantis,” by W. H. Auden
Being set on the idea
Of getting to Atlantis,
You have discovered of course
Only the Ship of Fools is
Making the voyage this year,
As gales of abnormal force
Are predicted, and that you
Must therefore be ready to
Behave absurdly enough
To pass for one of The Boys,
At least appearing to love
Hard liquor, horseplay and noise.
Should storms, as may well happen,
Drive you to anchor a week
In some old harbour-city
Of Ionia, then speak
With her witty sholars, men
Who have proved there cannot be
Such a place as Atlantis:
Learn their logic, but notice
How its subtlety betrays
Their enormous simple grief;
Thus they shall teach you the ways
To doubt that you may believe.
If, later, you run aground
Among the headlands of Thrace,
Where with torches all night long
A naked barbaric race
Leaps frenziedly to the sound
Of conch and dissonant gong:
On that stony savage shore
Strip off your clothes and dance, for
Unless you are capable
Of forgetting completely
About Atlantis, you will
Never finish your journey.
Again, should you come to gay
Carthage or Corinth, take part
In their endless gaiety;
And if in some bar a tart,
As she strokes your hair, should say
“This is Atlantis, dearie,”
Listen with attentiveness
To her life-story: unless
You become acquainted now
With each refuge that tries to
Counterfeit Atlantis, how
Will you recognise the true?
Assuming you beach at last
Near Atlantis, and begin
That terrible trek inland
Through squalid woods and frozen
Thundras where all are soon lost;
If, forsaken then, you stand,
Dismissal everywhere,
Stone and snow, silence and air,
O remember the great dead
And honour the fate you are,
Travelling and tormented,
Dialectic and bizarre.
Stagger onward rejoicing;
And even then if, perhaps
Having actually got
To the last col, you collapse
With all Atlantis shining
Below you yet you cannot
Descend, you should still be proud
Even to have been allowed
Just to peep at Atlantis
In a poetic vision:
Give thanks and lie down in peace,
Having seen your salvation.
All the little household gods
Have started crying, but say
Good-bye now, and put to sea.
Farewell, my dear, farewell: may
Hermes, master of the roads,
And the four dwarf Kabiri,
Protect and serve you always;
And may the Ancient of Days
Provide for all you must do
His invisible guidance,
Lifting up, dear, upon you
The light of His countenance.
Paul Hoecker’s “Abend,” 1897
“Roman Wall Blues,” by W. H. Auden
“Roman Wall Blues,” by W. H. Auden
Over the heather the wet wind blows,
I’ve lice in my tunic and a cold in my nose.
The rain comes pattering out of the sky,
I’m a Wall soldier, I don’t know why.
The mist creeps over the hard grey stone,
My girl’s in Tungria; I sleep alone.
Aulus goes hanging around her place,
I don’t like his manners, I don’t like his face.
Piso’s a Christian, he worships a fish;
There’d be no kissing if he had his wish.
She gave me a ring but I diced it away;
I want my girl and I want my pay.
When I’m a veteran with only one eye
I shall do nothing but look at the sky.
“Refugee Blues,” by W. H. Auden
“Refugee Blues,” by W. H. Auden
Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.
Once we had a country and we thought it fair,
Look in the atlas and you’ll find it there:
We cannot go there now, my dear, we cannot go there now.
In the village churchyard there grows an old yew,
Every spring it blossoms anew:
Old passports can’t do that, my dear, old passports can’t do that.
The consul banged the table and said,
“If you’ve got no passport you’re officially dead”:
But we are still alive, my dear, but we are still alive.
Went to a committee; they offered me a chair;
Asked me politely to return next year:
But where shall we go to-day, my dear, but where shall we go to-day?
Came to a public meeting; the speaker got up and said;
“If we let them in, they will steal our daily bread”:
He was talking of you and me, my dear, he was talking of you and me.
Thought I heard the thunder rumbling in the sky;
It was Hitler over Europe, saying, “They must die”:
O we were in his mind, my dear, O we were in his mind.
Saw a poodle in a jacket fastened with a pin,
Saw a door opened and a cat let in:
But they weren’t German Jews, my dear, but they weren’t German Jews.
Went down the harbour and stood upon the quay,
Saw the fish swimming as if they were free:
Only ten feet away, my dear, only ten feet away.
Walked through a wood, saw the birds in the trees;
They had no politicians and sang at their ease:
They weren’t the human race, my dear, they weren’t the human race.
Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors:
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours.
Stood on a great plain in the falling snow;
Ten thousand soldiers marched to and fro:
Looking for you and me, my dear, looking for you and me.
Wilhelm Amandus Beer’s “The Wolf, Captured Alive,” 1879
Oil on cardboard.
Salem, Virginia, February 2017
I took these shots last night, before I joined some great friends for great conversation and a great dinner on a balmy midwinter weekend. Every February should be as kind.
Alfred Wierusz-Kowalski’s “The Wolf,” 1895
Oil on canvas.
A few quick words on “What We Become” (2016)
“What We Become” (2016) is a competent, serviceable Danish horror film that nevertheless could have been better. (The film’s original title was “Sorgenfri.”) It’s capably written, nicely filmed, and well performed by its actors, and there is genuine suspense once its zombies are allowed to run amok.
The trouble is, that takes far too long. Like America’s “Viral” (2016), this is a zombie movie that spends so much effort on its setup that there is little time left for enough payoff.
This is another thoughtful apocalyptic monster movie that pays a great deal of attention to the media and military response to the emerging crisis. (And it’s creepily effective the way this is told exclusively from the point of view of a Danish suburb’s residents.) It will hold your attention as a kind of “slow burn” horror film — it reminded me a little of the first season of AMC’s “Fear the Walking Dead.” Ultimately, however, the zombies get too little screen time. And that’s a shame, because what we do see as a horrifying, tragic climax is actually very well executed.
Overall, I’d rate this a 7 out of 10.
Check out the art of Jennifer Shepit.
Social media is wonderful for getting acquainted with a variety of new artists to follow, but I must say that my friend Jennifer Shepit’s work has especially struck a chord with me. Jen is a wonderfully talented (and sometimes darkly inspired) artist from British Columbia, and her work is always engaging and sometimes startling.
She has a unique muse, I think — and I think many people with a taste for horror or dark fantasy would enjoy what she creates. I hope I get the opportunity to collaborate with her one day.
Below are several of Jen’s recent pieces that I have asked permission to share. You can find more of her prints, oil paintings and watercolors at her Etsy shop right here:
https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/JenniferShepit
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 