Date: Tue, 2 Apr 2002 12:25:26 +0100
Subject: BHA: Re-enchanting Reality


The following poem by W. B. Yeats was recently posted on
marxism-AT-lists.panix.com to offer uplift for the spirit amidst the
appalling events in Palestine and elsewhere. I pass it on because it
seems to me to capture something of the essence of what Bhaskar means
when he speaks of the re-enchantment of reality.

Mervyn


The Song Of Wandering Aengus 

 I WENT out to the hazel wood,
 Because a fire was in my head,
 And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
 And hooked a berry to a thread;
 And when white moths were on the wing,
 And moth-like stars were flickering out,
 I dropped the berry in a stream
 And caught a little silver trout.
 When I had laid it on the floor
 I went to blow the fire aflame,
 But something rustled on the floor,
 And some one called me by my name:
 It had become a glimmering girl
 With apple blossom in her hair
 Who called me by my name and ran
 And faded through the brightening air.
 Though I am old with wandering
 Through hollow lads and hilly lands.
 I will find out where she has gone,
 And kiss her lips and take her hands;
 And walk among long dappled grass,
 And pluck till time and times are done
 The silver apples of the moon,
 The golden apples of the sun.
-- 
Mervyn Hartwig
Editor, Journal of Critical Realism (incorporating 'Alethia')
13 Spenser Road
Herne Hill
London SE24 ONS
United Kingdom
Tel: 020 7 737 2892
Email: <mh-AT-jaspere.demon.co.uk>

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