I was there with my camera to record conflicting passions. I was there, the chronicler, the diarist. I recorded it all. And I don’t know – am I singing or am I crying?
“Crimson the hearth where one last ember glows!
My heart’s new winter hath no such relief,
Nor thought of Spring whose blossom he hath known
Hath turned him back where Spring is banished.
Barren the heart and dead the fires there,
Blow! O ye ashes, where the winds shall please,
But cry, ’Love also is the Yearly Slain.’”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Yearly Slain”