In 1919 William Butler Yeats published one of the most beautifully disturbing and one of the most anthologized poems in my ken. The opening lines of “The Second Coming” seem prophetic in their aptness for today.:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.”
The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
“Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”
…A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun…
…And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
The Beast 45 appears to have been imagined a century before it appeared.
Apparently written about WWI, the lines, unfortunately, seem timeless.