" Buonarroti "
Out of a block of stone large trunks fight free;
chisel is willed by forms as yet unborn.
Massive limbs push the mallet until eyes see
light on the outside, liberty led by brawn.
Shoulders emerge with boldness from the block.
Rubble discarded, aspiration thrusts
upwards and outwards. Now the carver trusts
nature to show the thing inside the rock.
Roughness remains, reminding us that stone
comes from the earth, and never will be tamed.
Naked the form appears, in no way shamed.
Solid it stands, immaculate, alone.
Terrible beauty causes men to bow.
Holy dimensions showed the sculptor how.
I accidentally used a phrase in the couplet made famous by W.B.Yeats. Subconscious mugged me. I wrote a new one but I don't like it as much.
Petrified movement; elemental power
flows through the sculptor’s hands and shows him how.
© 2002 Janet Kenny
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