Cantab
12-25-2006, 06:53 AM
As it's Christmas Day, I thought I'd log on and thank you all for the excellent discussions this year, and for tolerating my nonesense. Thanks also to Russ for the best art discussions on the web.
For all you artists out there, a poem:
Sonata
Evening. The wind rising.
The gathering excitement
of the leaves, and Beethoven
on the piano, chords reverberating
in our twin being.
"What is life?"
pitifully her eyes
asked. And I who was no seer
took hold of her loth hand
and examined it and was lost
like a pure mathematician
in his solution: strokes
cancelling strokes: angles
bisected; the line of life deviating
from the line of the head; a way
that was laid down for her to walk
which was not my way.
While the music
went on and on with chromatic
insistence, passionately proclaiming
by the keys' moonlight in the darkening
drawing-room how our art is our meaning.
R S Thomas
Ah, the line of life deviating from the line of the head. There's much art in that. And that last line...
For all you artists out there, a poem:
Sonata
Evening. The wind rising.
The gathering excitement
of the leaves, and Beethoven
on the piano, chords reverberating
in our twin being.
"What is life?"
pitifully her eyes
asked. And I who was no seer
took hold of her loth hand
and examined it and was lost
like a pure mathematician
in his solution: strokes
cancelling strokes: angles
bisected; the line of life deviating
from the line of the head; a way
that was laid down for her to walk
which was not my way.
While the music
went on and on with chromatic
insistence, passionately proclaiming
by the keys' moonlight in the darkening
drawing-room how our art is our meaning.
R S Thomas
Ah, the line of life deviating from the line of the head. There's much art in that. And that last line...