Sunday, September 26, 2004


The irresistible allure of the retro is akin to the force of gravity. The past is full of fascinating objects. In recognizing them we of course re-form them through our own bright imaginings. These retromorphs, as I call them, become like sacred objects. In the timeless garden where they are rooted, they shine with an inner radiance. To quote T. S. Eliot in The Waste Land, "these fragments I have shored against my ruins." In my case, I number among my own special retromorphs the novels of John Cowper Powys, particularly A Glastonbury Romance, which is itself a monument to the mother of all retromorphs: the Holy Grail.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ni temps passé, ni les amours reviennent