Nothing Is Normal

In a poem so oft-quoted that it embarrasses me slightly to quote it again, W. B. Yeats, gazing with a prophetic eye on the disintegrating world of modernity, writes

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

The next stanza begins: “Surely some revelation is at hand.”