The Tiger
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when that heart began to beat
what dread hand? and what dread feet?

When the stars threw down their spears
and watered heavan with their tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake
Not much to say about this poem, is there, really? It's the companion piece (in the Songs of Experience) to the Lamb (in the Songs of Innocence) so it's clear that the Tyger was Not A Good Thing. The fact that Blake obviously didn't know what a tiger looked like (see the wonderful watercolour—where the purported tiger is obviously a creature from a nightmare) doesn't really seem to matter. Nor does it matter that we don't know what it means: what matters is that it is ecstatic, and it possesses us. In this poem we see—uncensored—the full violence of Blake's poetic vision, and the delight we experience in it is almost voyeuristic.

In the first volume of his autobiography Bertrand Russell recalls being stopped dead in his tracks while trying to descend a staircase in Trinity (Cambridge) by his friend Crompton reciting the Tyger. He wrote

"I had never, till that moment, heard of Blake and the poem affected me so much that I became dizzy and had to lean against the wall".

And that was the man who wrote half of Principia Mathematica! Don't let anyone tell you that mathematicians are all cold fish.

One fact about this poem that has always struck me is that no-one ever seems to have made any attempt to set it to music. Scriabin would have tried had he known of it, but fortunately he didn't. (Blake generally doesn't go well to music. Just imagine the kind of mess one could make if one tried to set Jerusalem to music... it doesn't bear thinking of). Of course it's obviously impossible, but for all that one might derive some benefit from asking what it is about this poem that makes it so obviously impossible. I am forever telling my students that sometimes explanations of the obvious can be illuminating. (For example: I, for one, would love to gain some insight into why the Parrot Sketch is the best-loved comedy sketch (is it a comedy sketch..?) of all time.)

I have recently learnt that William Bolcom set the whole of The Songs of Innocence and Experience to music. I haven't heard it, and i'm not planning to. Not for the obvious reason, but beco's the only work of Bolcom's i know is the utterly delightful The Graceful Ghost rag and i don't want the disappointment of learning that that was his best work.

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