I'm reading a Phryne Fisher detective story by Kerry Greenwood at the moment, and this has led me to rediscover a schoolage passion of mine - the poetry of William Blake. Now I'm no goth, satanist or super christian, but the language and imagery of Blake just gives me the shivers. The first poem I ever read was A Poison Tree in The Songs of Innocence (1789) and Experience (1794), which dealt with the innocence and joy of the natural world, advocating free love and a closer relationship with god, and then the loss of innocence after exposure to the material world and all of the mortal sin of adult life. The thing I love most about his work, is his imagery. The short sharp but perfect lines of flowing rhythm and the almost nursery rhyme feel. His poems taunt, warn, comfort and advise all at once, twisting the way a mind contemplates good and evil. The second best thing is his art. Every poem comes on a plate illustrated by him and glows with the patina of time. In the same rustic way that pieces by William Morris touch me in their hand worked perfection, Blake is the same - just a hundred years earlier.
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