WotW, BtVS and Yeats!
Nov. 25th, 2006 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deannawolMuch hate for the new WotW (well not so much new but newer than the classic version). What the ever loving hell are they doing showing the damned aliens. The whole point is that they can't breathe our damned air. In the it's fatal to them type of way. They're not supposed to be wandering around looking at photographs. Call me old-fashioned, but I like it when they stick to the original story. I loved the 1938 broadcast when I heard a copy of it, even if it did cause a couple of deaths. But Jeez the girl in the movie can scream!
In other news, I have gotten past my stumbling block in the fic that I'm writing. It's currently standing at over 3,000 words and has one fairly long scene to go. It's a h/c Oz/Xander fic. Worst thing about me writing fic, is that I have to read it out loud to see if the timing is right. And I can't quite do that at home. Not with this fic anyway.
And in a strange note of culture, and because I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. Here is the text of "The Stolen Child" by William Butler Yeats which featured in a recent Torchwood episode.
Where dips the rocky highland
of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
where flapping herons wake
the drowsy river rats.
There we've hid our fairy vats
full of berries,
and of ripest stolen cherries.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
the dim gray 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 it's sleep.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
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;
We give them evil dreams,
leaning softly out
from ferns that drop their tears
of dew on the young streams.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
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 wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
than he can understand.
In other news, I have gotten past my stumbling block in the fic that I'm writing. It's currently standing at over 3,000 words and has one fairly long scene to go. It's a h/c Oz/Xander fic. Worst thing about me writing fic, is that I have to read it out loud to see if the timing is right. And I can't quite do that at home. Not with this fic anyway.
And in a strange note of culture, and because I mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. Here is the text of "The Stolen Child" by William Butler Yeats which featured in a recent Torchwood episode.
Where dips the rocky highland
of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
where flapping herons wake
the drowsy river rats.
There we've hid our fairy vats
full of berries,
and of ripest stolen cherries.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
the dim gray 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 it's sleep.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
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;
We give them evil dreams,
leaning softly out
from ferns that drop their tears
of dew on the young streams.
Come away, O, human child!
To the wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
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 wood and waters wild,
with a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weaping
than he can understand.
no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 01:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 10:02 am (UTC)