index
All is quiet in Arcady
Its dark , and somehow there’s a fog
The fog lifts and there on centre stage
There is a box
Its lovelieness shines all about
It has a label on its spout
From Mr Keats ( deceased )
The faun arrives from centre left
To play the dawn in on his pipes
to greet the rising of the sun
He sees the box and starts in shock
Not every day he gets a present
He puts the pipes down on the ground
And slowly turns the vase around
He turns the label upside down to see if theres a return address
A Mr Keats of
Wentworth Place
Astounded by the figures on it
The faun starts writing out a sonnet
What men or gods are these ? What maidens loth ?
What mad pursuit ? What struggles to escape ?
And whats it doing here in any case?
In Arcady we don’t get post
A random meteorite at most
No address really , no post code
No front door -and of course no road
So the faun looked at the box
So - “Open it “ - the ancient mammal
“ Don't open it - I forsee Doom
Tiresieas in usual gloom
“ no good can come of stuff unordered
Return to Sender - Send it back “
The Nun says - why not read the label ?
There isnt a return address
There is a curled up bit of paper
And there is a poem written on it
The faun stands up and reads it out
“ Thou still unravished bride of quietness ..... “
The total text is to the left
And there was silence in the glade
For quite a while
“ what does it mean ?
“ I’ve no idea “
Tiresias takes to the floor
“ I think it means that all the folks
In tunics that are on the vase
Are stuck in time forever , as
suspended in a kind of jelly
Just like a freeze frame on the telly
So that action is inferred
But nothing actually occurs
The leaves don’t fall - its always Spring
They're always young , they don’t get fat
So - though they may not feel the force
They will be spared things like Divorce
Well - true enough - but even so
Ten minutes later would be more fun
Thats just because you have no soul
Think of it a Scroedingers cat
This is the moment of potential
Where things can just go either way
For look - the girls might get away
Or they may all be struck by lightning
And is that likely ?
Hard to say
Depends if there are buildings near
Or they are underneath a tree
Or wearing metal on their heads
And if they are ?
They’d be struck dead
So this is why the sculptor’s caught
Them looking lovely and not just
A heap of charred and smokey dust
And truth is beauty
beauty’s truth and so on in an endless loop “
“ Just like a moebius strip ? “
“ Exactly
No more questions ? Lets move on
To the next item on agenda
Theres a question from the floor
About self - intersecting shapes ? Topology ?
Ekphrasis ?
It is
It is what ?
ekphrasis
indexAll is quiet in Arcady
Its dark , and somehow there’s a fog
The fog lifts and there on centre stage
There is a box
Its lovelieness shines all about
It has a label on its spout
From Mr Keats ( deceased )
The faun arrives from centre left
To play the dawn in on his pipes
to greet the rising of the sun
He sees the box and starts in shock
Not every day he gets a present
He puts the pipes down on the ground
And slowly turns the vase around
He turns the label upside down to see if theres a return address
A Mr Keats of
Wentworth Place
Astounded by the figures on it
The faun starts writing out a sonnet
What men or gods are these ? What maidens loth ?
What mad pursuit ? What struggles to escape ?
And whats it doing here in any case?
In Arcady we don’t get post
A random meteorite at most
No address really , no post code
No front door -and of course no road
So the faun looked at the box
So - “Open it “ - the ancient mammal
“ Don't open it - I forsee Doom
Tiresieas in usual gloom
“ no good can come of stuff unordered
Return to Sender - Send it back “
The Nun says - why not read the label ?
There isnt a return address
There is a curled up bit of paper
And there is a poem written on it
The faun stands up and reads it out
“ Thou still unravished bride of quietness ..... “
The total text is to the left
And there was silence in the glade
For quite a while
“ what does it mean ?
“ I’ve no idea “
Tiresias takes to the floor
“ I think it means that all the folks
In tunics that are on the vase
Are stuck in time forever , as
suspended in a kind of jelly
Just like a freeze frame on the telly
So that action is inferred
But nothing actually occurs
The leaves don’t fall - its always Spring
They're always young , they don’t get fat
So - though they may not feel the force
They will be spared things like Divorce
Well - true enough - but even so
Ten minutes later would be more fun
Thats just because you have no soul
Think of it a Scroedingers cat
This is the moment of potential
Where things can just go either way
For look - the girls might get away
Or they may all be struck by lightning
And is that likely ?
Hard to say
Depends if there are buildings near
Or they are underneath a tree
Or wearing metal on their heads
And if they are ?
They’d be struck dead
So this is why the sculptor’s caught
Them looking lovely and not just
A heap of charred and smokey dust
And truth is beauty
beauty’s truth and so on in an endless loop “
“ Just like a moebius strip ? “
“ Exactly
No more questions ? Lets move on
To the next item on agenda
Theres a question from the floor
About self - intersecting shapes ? Topology ?
Ekphrasis ?
It is
It is what ?
ekphrasis