The Drunken Cartographer’s New Toy.

April 21, 2009 at 6:22 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 10 Comments
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I do not believe in free rights nor the unrestrained unleashing of meaning. There was a time when beauty had purpose and the creation of beautiful objects was an honourable profession, he mumbles frantically twisting some device. Driving screws archemediate and there is a low cranking of chains on pulleys and various mutterings of discontent from the slavery.

One must begin with flawless stone and on that unshaped mass impose some maths, he intones, someplace else some lid opens and eyes peek out.

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10 Comments »

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  1. Are they green eyes? I like the idea of someone pursuing the idea of beauty all their life… it is perhaps not necessarily a pursuit of romance but of wonderment. Lovely the way this rolls, Paul.

  2. Beauty, like the writer’s voice, is an artificial construct? I love the idea of a transition from flawlessness to beauty. Perfectly crafted 😉

  3. The pace and control you have over your words never fails to amaze me. This is deep, profound writing flowing from you lately. I loved how the title works with the body. The last two lines are a serious piece de resistance on this little masterpiece.

  4. THERE IS NEVER ANYTHING TO PRO-DUCE. In spite of all its materialist efforts, production remains a utopia. We can wear ourselves out in materializing things, in rendering them visible, but we will never cancel the secret.

  5. Loved this one Paul :)!! There was many a time and will be, but what about our time?

    This emboldens me to post something I jettisoned in the past as being unnecessarily harsh 😦

  6. Does this mean you believe in expensive rights and a slow trickling of meaning? I prefer a middle ground, myself. I enjoy finding a good bargain on rights, such as the gaining the right to marry if I do inappropriate and perhaps naughty things with a political figure who doesn’t think I should exist. I like a steady stream of meaning, but nothing gushing, you know? 🙂

  7. I do not know the meaning of grushing (it ‘s true)

  8. the sound of the last two lines…

    i read the words out loud several times because my mouth just had to taste them.

  9. A delight — it speaks to me of artistic creation as an organic process vs. a mechanistic one, the futility in trying to derive artistic meaning from formula.

  10. and on that unshaped mass impose some maths… this is simply brilliant Paul. This line has carved itself into me.

    Graham


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