Recent inspirations: Blake and Levertov

I recently mentioned William Blake and his "Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience" to a friend, as an example of someone who beautifully combined words and images. I hadn't read it since back in college, so I dug out my copy. I had forgotten how creative and innovative he was, especially for his time (late 18th-early 19th century).  I had also forgotten how much I love reading poetry. Here's a quote about Blake's work that I find so inspiring, from the introduction to the print edition by Sir Geoffrey Keynes:

"He [Blake] knew that poetry and design are the same thing in different forms, and he possessed the originality and craftsmanship needed for the practice of both, separately or simultaneously...He wished to have them [his poems] clothed in design and colour, so that each poem-picture formed an artistic whole."

And another poet I have recently rediscovered: Denise Levertov. I opened at random to her 6-part poem, "Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus". I'll reproduce the sixth part, my favorite, here. It's actually quite appropriate for this season of Lent/Leap of Faith.

by Denise Levertov

vi Agnus Dei

Given that lambs
are infant sheep, that sheep
are afraid and foolish, and lack
the means of self-protection, having
neither rage nor claws,
venom nor cunning,
what then
is this 'Lamb of God'?

This pretty creature, vigorous
to nuzzle at milky dugs,
woolbearer, bleater,
leaper in air for delight of being, who finds in astonishment
four legs to land on, the grass
all it knows of the world?
          With whom we would like to play
whom we'd lead with ribbons, but may not bring
into our houses because
it would soil the floor with its droppings?

What terror lies concealed
in strangest words, O lamb
of God that taketh away
the Sins of the World: an innocence
          smelling of ignorance,
          born in bloody snowdrifts,
          licked by forebearing
dogs more intelligent than its entire flock put together?

                             God then,
          encompassing all things, is
          defenseless? Omnipotence
          has been tossed away, reduced
          to a wisp of damp wool?
 
                              And we,
          frightened, bored, wanting
only to sleep till catastrophe
has raged, clashed, seethed and gone by without us,
                   wanting then
to awaken in quietude without remembrance of agony,

                   we who in shamefaced private hope
          had looked to be plucked from fire and given
          a bliss we deserved for having imagined it,

                    is it implied that we
         must protect this perversely weak
         animal, whose muzzle's nudgings
         suppose there is milk to be found in us?
         Must hold to our icy hearts
         a shivering God?

                        *

So be it.
         Come, rag of pungent
         quiverings,
                          dim star.
                                        Let's try
                      if something human still
                      can shield you,
                                             spark
                      of remote light.