Pairing a poem from the old metaphysically minded George Herbert with a modern song by Bastille and Daniel Smith may seem and probably is a stretch.  Nonetheless, they are a couple of poets and seekers into deep human issues who use simple approachable frames (or “front porches” to borrow a Herbert metaphor) as ways in.  (To give a little more taste of each, an additional poem by Herbert and a song by Bastille are added.  Re. the work by Bastille, in addition to the artistic wrestle with the mythological character Icarus, I enjoy the simple natural version and the sense of friends gathering to sing a song.)

 

Enjoy!

 

JP

 

 

The Pulley

by George Herbert

 

When God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,

“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we can.

Let the world’s riches, which dispersèd lie,

Contract into a span.”

 

So strength first made a way;

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure.

When almost all was out, God made a stay,

Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure,

Rest in the bottom lay.

 

“For if I should,” said he,

“Bestow this jewel also on my creature,

He would adore my gifts instead of me,

And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature;

So both should losers be.

 

“Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;

Let him be rich and weary, that at least,

If goodness lead him not, yet weariness

May toss him to my breast.”

 

 

 

Flaws
by Bastille

 

When all of your flaws and all of my flaws

Are laid out one by one

The wonderful part of the mess that we made

We pick ourselves undone

 

All of your flaws and all of my flaws

They lie there hand in hand

Ones we've inherited, ones that we learned

They pass from man to man

 

There's a hole in my soul

I can't fill it, I can't fill it

There's a hole in my soul

Can you fill it? Can you fill it?

 

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve

And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground

Dig them up; let's finish what we've started

Dig them up, so nothing's left untouched

 

All of your flaws and all of my flaws,

When they have been exhumed

We'll see that we need them to be who we are

Without them we'd be doomed

 

There's a hole in my soul

I can't fill it, I can't fill it

There's a hole in my soul

Can you fill it? Can you fill it?

 

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve

And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground

Dig them up; let's finish what we've started

Dig them up, so nothing's left untouched

 

Ooh

Ooh

 

When all of your flaws

And all of my flaws are counted

When all of your flaws

And all of my flaws are counted

 

You have always worn your flaws upon your sleeve

And I have always buried them deep beneath the ground

Dig them up. Let's finish what we've started

Dig them up. So nothing's left untouched

 

Ooh

Ooh

 

All of your flaws and all of my flaws

Are laid out one by one

Look at the wonderful mess that we made

We pick ourselves undone

 

 

 

The Collar

by George Herbert

 

I struck the board, and cried, "No more;

                         I will abroad!

What? shall I ever sigh and pine?

My lines and life are free, free as the road,

Loose as the wind, as large as store.

          Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest but a thorn

To let me blood, and not restore

What I have lost with cordial fruit?

          Sure there was wine

Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn

    Before my tears did drown it.

      Is the year only lost to me?

          Have I no bays to crown it,

No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted?

                  All wasted?

Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,

            And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute

Of what is fit and not. Forsake thy cage,

             Thy rope of sands,

Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee

Good cable, to enforce and draw,

          And be thy law,

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.

          Away! take heed;

          I will abroad.

Call in thy death's-head there; tie up thy fears;

          He that forbears

         To suit and serve his need

          Deserves his load."

But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild

          At every word,

Methought I heard one calling, Child!

          And I replied My Lord.

 

 

Icarus

by Bastille