In Memorium: Ray Bradbury

I’m sure this post will mean little or nothing to those who do not feel as I do about the works of a man whose vision-whether it took us to the far reaches of space or the tattooed landscape of the human body-always brought us home to the deepest landscapes within ourselves. Ray Bradbury always loved fairy tales; the stories that reached into all of us and drew out who we were. Sometimes gentle, sometimes elegiacal, sometimes frightening and forever a part of our new and changing mythology: that is the legacy of Raymond Douglas Bradbury.

This is for you, Ray Bradbury, wherever you are:

I went out to the hazelwood
Because a fire was in my head
Cut and peeled a hazel wand
And hooked a berry to a thread

And when white moths were on the wing
And moth-like stars were flickering out
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
And gone to blow the fire aflame
Something rustled on the floor
And someone called me by my name.

It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossoms in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And vanished in the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands
I will find out where she has gone
And kiss her lips and take her hand

And walk through long green dappled grass
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.

The Song of Wandering Aengus

by William Butler Yeats

 

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