Pomyślcie, proszę, wraz ze mną o człowieku z lotnią, który w sobotę tak właśnie umarł. Było nas czworo i byliśmy jak ten oracz za pługiem i rybak z siecią. Mogliśmy tylko patrzeć. A on spadł i umarł.
Potrzebowałam dwóch dni, by móc napisać ten wpis.
Please, let us think about a paraglider, who died on saturday exactly like Icarus. We were four of us, looking at his fall, not able to do anything.
I needed two days for being able to prepare that post.
Pieter Brueghel the Elder (1526/1530–1569), Landscape with the Fall of Icarus,1558, oil on canvas mounted on wood, Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. Wikipedia commons. Photographer: manosuelta.files.wordpress.com.
|William Carlos Wiliams
According to Brueghel
a farmer was ploughing
of the year was awake
in the sun
|W. H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters;
how well, they understood
Its human position;
how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer’s horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance:
how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster;
the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.