‘The Book of Thel’

 In William Blake’s “The Book of Thel,” the daughters of seraphim tend their flocks in the vales of Har — except for the youngest. Thel wonders why all living things must grow old and die. She asks around. 

“Oh little Cloud,” the virgin said, “I charge thee tell to

            me

Why thou complainest not when in one hour thou fade

away:

Then we shall seek thee, but not find. Ah! Thel is like to 

thee:

I pass away: yet I complain, and no one hears my

            voice.

 

The question is wonderfully cast.

The answer is another matter.

I met a fellow named for the poet. Blake convinced me to give the other Blake a try. I loved “The Lamb” and “The Tyger” but I bounced off the prophetic poems without making a dent. I could sense the poet’s vast vision. Somehow, it wasn’t for me.

On and off, I go back to Blake, hoping that something within me has changed that will allow me to better appreciate those poems.

Since making a note on Gerald Murnane, I’ve been thinking about writers who create space in the imagination. Blake deserved another try.

• Sources and notes: William Blake, Selected Writings, edited by Robert F. Gleckner; New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 1967, pp. 46-52. The Portable Blake, edited by Alfred Kazin; London: Penguin Books, 1976, pp. 279-86. The note on Gerald Murnane was posted Jan. 9.