Your Quote...
Submitted by Altima on 2002-09-23 18:37:25, Monday
In reply to Signs submitted by J on 2002-09-21 03:38:18, Saturday
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Is from W.B. Yeats "The Stolen Child," and it seemed that A.I. was based more on that poem than on the short story by Brian Aldiss ("Supertoys Last all Summer Long") that has the official credit. OK enough nitpicking. I personally liked Signs, namely for how it depicted our perspective of a world changing event. It makes us wonder if we really should laugh when we hear about the hicks that asked how to sign up to fight the aliens when War of the Worlds was broadcast. The film almost never leaves the house, and all the external information comes from TV and Radio. Hmmmm, similarities? I personally like this director, but he does a few things in every movie that are now too easy to spot, he always puts himself in the film (this time I think he gave himself too big a role) and he always involved Philidelphia, albiet in one small reference this time. Of and he's the best at making some instances of modest-budget special effects really darn scary. The Stolen Child by William Butler Yeats Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of the reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Away with us he's going, The solemn eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For he comes, the human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, From a world more full of weeping than he can understand. |
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