A prose rendered would not look the same if you touched it. My intuition tells me this was written with someone in mind, inspired but not exclusively by the writing. But I see it as a metaphor for attraction and even recognizing that those who mine the gifts everyone is given, are strikingly beautiful.
But I also see the reference to a body of knowledge that we have always posessed. To know art or spiritual worth taps ideas that are archetypes. This is theology meets art with a touch of desire. And that is where the fig leaf comes in.
Having found the knowledge, now we realize how truly ludicrious our efforts to gain it have become... how it divided us for no reason, and then, the actual gain has been art and spritual wealth and we ve been spoon fed, haven't we? it's been ours from the beginning, if we only listen. Beautiful, and thought provoking,
Haven't been on for a while. Sorry i haven't read your work lately.
Somehow when i read the title, I don't really know what went through my mind to think that but i did. I was thinking of an island a long long time ago that disappeared from sight and some significant story about this island was about to be revealed. It sounds silly but somehow i thought that. I found out it wasn't what i thought but then usually i don't always get the right impression with titles like those.
The piece itself had interesting lines that i can relate to and understand but somehow i felt that it was just words with no intensity. It reminded me of a teacher we had once who spoke of something he belived in but he didn't convince us that he believed in it that much and that's what this writing is making me think in terms of intensity.
Still as always, i find the way you write poetry is remarkable.
All beauty is emptiness, although each word is lovely your page remains naked; a seraphic white stain.
Where is the soul to what you/we/I write, you ask perhaps? You know what they say about emptiness is Godliness and all that. But I think you imply the opposite, in that beautiful words are presented... but without the passion to back it up, which in essence isn't human at all. Even a seraph's cumshot is pure... and who wants pure when filthy and heart-rending is better?
Each mighty attempt at prose lapsed to poetry, each boisterous intonation became a framed first print.
Doesn't prose and poetry often overlap, only really separated by the linelengths/lineation we choose to adopt? But I digress. "Framed first print" leads me to think you're talking about poetry that was written in 5 minutes flat without any thought whatsoever (which I do frequently, I must admit), with the writer elevating it to publishable God status-- to be left pure, undefiled and above "the heathen dirty masses", figuratively speaking (which I hope I never do).
What could be lovelier than this grand illusion, lush as a ripe fig about to be won?
Figs: Eve's fruit, first place on the podium perhaps? It's all an illusion-- only real to the people competing, or so it would seem.
Well, the opening of this, those first few words about beauty being emptiness reminded me of song lyrics, "...and though all that's charming disappears, all things lovely only hurt my head..." and while I suppose there is no correlation, I thought I would share that with you anyway. That's from mewithoutYou's "the Soviet" I believe.
Anyway, I agree, that there is a certain hollowness to beauty. I suppose this poem is about attempting/struggling to write a prose, ending up with poetry and then ending with an illusion of satisfaction.
Hmm, something about the first stanza doesn't work. I think you should change that first comma to a semi-colon or something. Maybe even a period, or just putting it on a seperate line altogether, but I feel it runs too quickly into that next line, and I think it should perhaps linger more. Meh, I don't know. A personal preference I suppose.
Sorry, I'm just jumping around crazily aren't I?
Well, despite the fact that I don't understand the very last part, about the fig, I did rather enjoy this piece. Indeed.