{Black and White [continued]}[20th October 1987]

[Redbook4:146][19871020:2058d]{Black and White [continued]}[20th October 1987]

19871020.2058

[continued]

I am sorry about the connotations of black, but they cannot be avoided: they are too well rooted in the psyche, together with the polarity vs. white/light, whether because of primitive Sun-worship (or awareness), or for whatever reason. I [obviously] do not think* that black people (who are rarely black in any case) necessarily** have the Circle qualities that go with black – nor 'white' people with white. But the facts of symbolic language are as true as the facts of racial skin colour, and cannot be disregarded.***

*[I am certain that “I do not think” here should be read not as an indication of uncertainty but as an absolute statement of what is not thought.]

**[‘statistically’ is meant here, I believe]

*** “For I am black, but Oh! My Soul is white!”***

– Go on, spoil it all. <930506>

****[

The Little Black Boy

MY mother bore me in the southern wild,

And I am black, but O, my soul is white!

White as an angel is the English child,

But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,

And, sitting down before the heat of day,

She took me on her lap and kissèd me,

And, pointing to the East, began to say:

'Look at the rising sun: there God does live,

And gives His light, and gives His heat away,

And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive

Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

'And we are put on earth a little space,

That we may learn to bear the beams of love;

And these black bodies and this sunburnt face

Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

'For when our souls have learn'd the heat to bear,

The cloud will vanish; we shall hear His voice,

Saying, "Come out from the grove, my love and care,

And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice."'

Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me,

And thus I say to little English boy.

When I from black and he from white cloud free,

And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear

To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;

And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,

And be like him, and he will then love me.

William Blake, 1757–1827:

Songs of Innocence and Experience.

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