arcana imperii :: the book of j


death be not proud

i first heard the following sonnet, one of the most beautiful, evocative and meaningful in english literature, watching the extraordinary film version of the play W;t a few years ago. this metaphysical poetry reveals a belief in life after death which i do not share in the conventional sense. if one lives after death it's because someone simply remembers.

and so i agree with the interpretation that the "comma" in «death, thouh shalt die» is indeed a mere pause between passing and life everafter. but not in a heaven amidst clouds and harp-playing angels, but in the memory of those who've known me.

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
~john donne

i must review the transcription of this sonnet for i don't know if it follows Dame Helen Garner's (who referred to an original manuscript dated 1610) nor do i wish to give in to «hysterical punctuation»... one might as well quote shakespeare instead, right?




someone used one email address associated with this blog to request an MSN PASSPORT ACCOUNT without my permission. i can't but speculate about the intent and know not what this person could accomplish with it... but it can't be good, can it? i have attempted to cancel the passport account but am not yet certain my request has been properly handled and implemented.

caveat lector.


«queda poc perquè arribis»... i hope

si vens,
perquè t'estimo
i tinc ganes que vinguis
i fer la tarda llarga
arraulits entre cabells
de petons furtius.
si pot ser,
de vegades riure
amb els ulls guaitant
amb els teus ulls
tan amables, taquetes.
prems una mà
que sol ser freda
de matí si marxes
sol ser freda
i te la dono tota,
no hi ha sang
si no la prems.
i el rellotge,
mil espases
que claven segons
i el rellotge
deixarà anar ocells
amb un vol de carreteres
girant la cara,
veient-te a prop.
que ja és lhora
-que no puc més.


source: blablaBlai via bitacoras.com.