To die, to sleep —
To sleep — perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause — Hamlet (III,i,71-75)
Category Archives: cemeteries
translucent
memento mori
sheldon church ruins
Beaufort County, SC
a place in the sun
late november
late november
day’s end
broken vessels
apotropaic
gargoyle
st helena chapel of ease
time and tide
Metairie Cemetery
brokedown palace
inscrutable gatekeeper
a colder eye
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by. – W. B. Yeats
moonrise, saint louis cemetery
inscrutable
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun – W. B. Yeats, from The Second Coming
location: Metairie Cemetery
no exit
vanishing point
the haserot angel
Lake View Cemetery – Cleveland
city of the dead
verdigris
focal distance vs physical distance of the reflective surface
day for night
intimations of immortality
Metairie Cemetery
being and nothingness
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
The Tempest – Act 4, scene 1
memorial day
still water
St. Louis Cemetery – New Orleans
winter light
close of day
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
– from The Poems of Dylan Thomas, 1952