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john davies
notes from a small vicar
from a parish
in Liverpool, UK

    Sunday, October 26, 2003
    On Blake
     
    In the visionary imagination of William Blake there is no birth and no death, no beginning and no end, only the perpetual pilgrimage within time toward eternity.

    Peter Ackroyd's Blake begins with this breathtaking sentence; I started reading it today. Struck by the amount of Blake references already on this website: seems his influence percolates all sorts of areas of interest here. Yet I feel I know so little about him as yet, save the glories of 'Jerusalem' which, with wonderful synchronicity, concluded our Choral Evensong this evening.

    It's a London life, Blake's - 'at 7.45pm on a November evening in 1757, he came crying into the rushlight and candlelight of a London winter'; born above a hosier's shop in Soho. He saw God from the upper windows of that house. But his bright visions were universal, and there's great fascination in exploring them while remaining conscious of the physical and social ground he trod. More Blake no doubt, soon.