Songs

 Analysis of Holy Thursday

      Holy Thursday is a poem written by William Blake, taken from Songs of Innocence.

’Twas on a Holy Thursday their innocent faces clean,

The children walking two & two in red & blue & green,

Grey headed beadles walk’d before with wands as white as snow,

Till into the high dome of Pauls they like Thames waters flow.

O what a multitude they seem’d these flowers of London town!

Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own.

The hum of multitudes was there but multitudes of lambs,

Thousands of little boys & girls raising their innocent hands.

Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song.

Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heavens among.

Beneath them sit the aged men wise guardians of the poor;

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

      Holy Thursday is more then the average entertaining poem; it is written to be a display of innocence. In the first stanza Blake writes about London on Holy Thursday (Ascension Day), where parishioners celebrate the fortieth day after the resurrection of Christ. On this day “grey headed beadles” guide rows of cleaned orphans, dressed and happy, into St. Paul church. These children are the ultimate example of innocence.

      Blake describes the children in the second stanza as “flowers of London town”, comparing the orphans to something as treasured as a flower. By doing this he is emphasizing the beauty and feebleness the children have, and banishing the assumed thought that the children are worthless and a trouble. In the third line of the second stanza Blake speaks of the children as metaphoric “lambs”, the lamb is the symbol of Christ, linking the children to the lamb of God. This is how Blake subtly expresses Jesus’ special love a care for all children.

      All citizens of London gather in the cathedral, to sit and observe the ceremony. In the third stanza the people watch the boys and girls raise their “innocent hands” to the Lord and sing to heaven. Blake describes the act to show the change in the children, they are no longer meek and mild; they are strong, and their voices are able to reach up to God and speak to heaven. The aged men seated below the children observe the powerful innocent act, and are touched. The speaker is also moved by the heartbreaking image of the mass, and reminds the reader that orphans like these are actually angels of God.

      William Blake wrote this song as a take on orphans who would clean up and march annually to church to sing. The children perceived this as a treat, which is an example of their innocent and bleak lives. It illustrates their innocence in the fact that they are orphans, poor and meek, with absolutely nothing, yet they get dressed, attend church with happiness, and praise the Lord. Once again Blake is teaching a sad lesson, a lesson many of today’s children should learn.

This is what I would picture the view of the mass would be for the orphans.

The Tyger

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Blake was one of the first common people of his time to see a tiger in the London menagerie. I wonder what it would have been like not to know that something so majestic exists, and then seeing it in real life for the first time. Children in America grow up with toy tigers, books with pictures of tigers in them, and they are on TV, nothing is a surprise to anyone anymore.

After Blake saw the magnificent beast, he drew a picture of the tiger (above). Blake wondered why, and how God (speaking of him as an artist, in order to compare nature to a work of art) could create something so ferocious, so lethal, and then also create something to innocent and harmless like the lamb. In the poem the speaker is talking directly to the Tyger, asking it repeated questions that are similar to the first, “What immortal hand or eye/Could frame thy fearful symmetry?” Throughout the next stanza’s Blake compares God to a sculptor and a blacksmith, and basically with a sting of questions, talking about how the Tyger was made. I think the Tyger in the poem is more then just a tiger itself, but it symbolizes the presence of evil in the world.

Throughout the poem the speaker is asking, “What kind of a God, would design such a terrifying animal as the tiger?” And even under that it seems to be asking, “What does the undeniable existence of evil and violence in the world tell us about the nature of God?” I believe we live in a world in which He created both beauty and horror. How can you have one without the other? There are magnificent creatures like the tiger, and there are very meek and small creatures like the lamb. The speaker in the poem is not only asking about the tiger, but about evil and destruction itself. God created the tiger, just as he created us, are we not as destructive as a tiger? Do we not kill animals and eat them? A tiger is a ferocious beast, large in size and extremely strong, but if Blake is speaking about evil itself, I feel that people do more damage to not only other animals, but to other people. A tiger probably has a lower murder rate of the same species then human beings. I don’t feel that tigers are terrible, I would not want to be in close proximity to one, but are humans really any better?

If then Blake is accusing God of creating something so evil as humans, I believe that God created man in his own image; and each man has the choice to do the right or wrong thing in their life. There is good, because there is evil; there is ferocious, because there is gentle; and there is innocence, because there is experience.

The White War (Prose Poem by Austin Schwartz)

I opened my eyes to see an everlasting stretch of white snow till the eye could see. Its shine like that off a diamond.

The desolate ground was home to just me.

Nothing could be seen above in the grey-darkened abyss. No bird, no sound, no movement stirred around me.

I had just been walking through the ever-so-green park in Koln. The blue skies all around, the sound of church bells from the cathedral rang in my ears like a song.

The happiness was abundant with every person that passed by. Trees with blossoms as if they were their own color.

Not here though.

Here there is nothing. I am alone and lost.

The silence became a piercing sound.

I walk aimlessly searching for something that I do not know what for.

White consumes me.

I try and speak yet I am a silent mouse.

The silence is then broken, enormous noise surrounds me like the waves on the ocean.

Coming from my right, then coming from my left. Alternating from my front to my back. Increasing in speed.

I crouch in thinking I am protecting myself as though there is nothing but white. No object to fall under or behind. No source can be found of the strident clamor.

And as fast as the sound came upon me, it diminished into an unknown void.

I remain clenching my ears like that of a newborn and his mother. My eyes closed like glue. 

I wait as if more will come. And it did.

This time colors. With the sound coming first, a bright flash of light like the sun proceeding. Blinding and illuminating the snow.

Yellows, oranges, reds all burst into the air. At times the light itself was blinding.

Smoke began to rise around me like a disease. Coughing into the air unable to cover my mouth as I am already covering my ears.

And yet again, as fast as it had came, the din collapsed.

My mind goes blank, I can think of nothing. My mind is white, my soul is empty and I am immersed in fear as if the world had come to its very end. And it did.

I bring myself to look, to open my eyes. I begin to stand after being crouched for so long. Now all I see is grey, grey smoke in every direction.

My eyes are open, but I still remain blind like that of a newborn.

Waiving my hands to steer the smoke away I see it.

I become ill, my stomach churns, my hands quiver, my feet stuck to the snow.

Koln Cathedral stands erect. Its enormous beauty stands tall like a champion.

And I fall to my knees as the snow diminishes, color begins to emerge, and I see what has become of this land.

All buildings destroyed. Grey and black my eyes see as bodies lay flat, motionless and dismembered.

The only thought or feeling in my body and mind was fear. And just as I had seen the devastation of the park and homes and trees and lives, I was back.

The green grass, the joyous people. The warm summer air. The peace.

Was that a dream? What have I seen? Where did I go?

And my ears stood in amazement as I heard the voice.

My homeland, my Germany, was to be under him. And in that place I realized my doom, my live stripped from me and so many others like in a slaughter house.

The white death would come, and I was never the same.

The Silent Child (Prose Poem by MJ Roy)

The silent child sits. Quiet. Obedient. She does not deserve the monster’s hits.

Yes, she is perceived as strong. As strong as the damaged may look. The happy face, the blank façade. Her emotions a closed black book. Day by bright day she fades through life, living in fear ‘til the next scary night.

Her friends do not notice, the clear tears in her eyes; and to the teachers she speaks great lies, but when the child is alone she cries and cries.

She does not cower from the monster, no, a fighter that is she. Weakness and suffering, is something the beast must not see. But without a reaction the monster pounds, breaks things, beats, and screams. Outside that sage room though, no one will see, the pain that is caused by the drugged demonic being.

The beast is a magician! A master of disguise! On the outside the beauty escapes no eyes. Happy and bubbling, a lovable woman. No one can see the pain that she is causing.

Lies the monster spreads, like hot wildfire it comes; so blatantly, so easily, spread to everyone. From every angle the monster tears apart the girls life. The child it is ruining, on the outside and in. But no one notices, no one cares, she is alone without a friend.

She tries, oh the child tries to escape and run away, but she will soon be back before the light of the next day. When she runs she sits in the cold, the silent white cold, lonely, and scared, no comfort at all. She screams into the night, none hear but the wind. She curses the sky for bring the beast in; in her room, in her house, every night the monster comes. To punish and terrorize, to go crazy, for fun. The child tries to defeat it; to destroy the monsters disgusting supply. But no matter what she does, the monster finds how to survive. She gets it somehow, the supply is coming! No matter how many times the child dumps, breaks, pours, and destroys it.

The poor girl is out of ideas; can it only be the way? To take her own life, would that ease the pain? She attempts the task, each day, after school; why would she want to live in a world so cruel?

Still, the child sits, with heavy blade and bible, hoping to cut the pain out from inside her. She asks her God, begs her God; does he hear her cry? When she sits the corner screaming “Why, why, why?” She gets no comfort, no help from pain; so she grins at the monster, and bears it the same.

In the darkness she sits, waiting for the monsters three a.m. fit. It comes and she takes it, never moving an inch. Quiet. Silent.

Ancient of Days by Austin Schwartz

     Known throughout the world, this drawing to the right could possibly be the most famous piece of art that William Blake ever created. Created in 1794, The Ancient of Days was inspired by Blake's often visions that he would see through his daily life. Being a very religious man and a follower of Christ, Blake's work reflect his faith. This specific drawing was originally a water color drawing for the cover of "Europe, the Prophecy." Blake stated that the image appeared to him through a vision when he was overlooking a staircase while he was living in Lambeth.

     The main focus that Blake brought to the viewers attention when looking at the image was the theme "Urizen." The theme is based upon the idea of both conventional reason and law and the interaction between both. The poetical work and drawings of "Urizen" depict the bearded man throughout many works as he is to embody the reason in life that coexists with the law establish on earth. The idea that Blake portrays is the man has the power to create and constrain the universe itself. In other depictions the man used nets to constrain men by law.

     Blake created in his own words a version of how the bible was created and the laws that come over man along with creating a god, Urizen and his polar opposite, Los, portraying the same characteristics of God and the Devil. In the poem, "Europe, the Prophecy," Urizen through his own works is able to open the book of brass, which resembles the bible, and places he laws on mankind.

     The compass in the painting is to symbolize the creation and condition of the world and the philosophy during that time period. Through the painting and the overall meaning and ideas in "Europe, The Prophecy," Blake is trying to convey his fears and concerns of Europe's intentions and current condition of leadership and beliefs. Blake was tired of how religion was being twisted and manipulated all throughout England. "Europe, The Prophecy," and "The Ancient of Days" clearly portray Blake's deepest concerns for the human race.

The Dream: Global Warning by Erika Hewgley

The dry brisk air numbs the first layer of my lips, before I lose all feeling.

As the frigid breeze keeps penetrating my skin, I feel the horror of this change.

A change in which I nor mankind can quite control.

But wait! It stops, but only for a time,
the time needed to send chills from my head to toe.

I make my journey through wind, rain, sleet and snow.

But why I ask? Why has this change come so fast?

Some would say a bit too fast.

While only in August we had the glistening beauty of the morning light to keep warm

Why had the colors and winds of Autumn arise then quickly disappear?

The cold is quick to come now.

I have a vision of extreme danger.

All this weather change seems somewhat far from right.

Is it wrong that fish freeze while other animals are hibernating long?

A long dark winter, cold and wet

A chill that never seems to end

But one day there may be light

That will bring this misery to an end

As time travels by us, for a moment we will ponder

Until the next hint of cold,

Where we realize, there shall be no hope.

The opposite of cold is hot

The boundaries of Earth we see

Temperatures rising

Ice caps melting

And the multiple worries start flowing

Polar Bears drowning, you say?

A victim of his own surroundings

Will this change their niche?

Rivers rising, floods increasing

Agonies that people should be facing

Lost in the excitement, overridden by greed

People keep gaining on their own to succeed

All for one and one for all

Whats happening? I shall say

The heat is climbing, will it ever change?

The feeling of sweat as I bake through the day

Something is very wrong

What will it prove to be?

Heating the Earth to the extremity

I open my eyes to only see

Wow....What a dream!