the statues are dumb, struck into silence.
when i saw Dante for instance posing on a street in florence
i knew, in a flash, what god doesn’t know, what there’s no word for.
i took a photo, & after that there was nothing but stone
& imitation of stone.
was never entirely sure what Yeats was talking about. I suppose proportion and ratio and his line about knowledge increases unreality. The more we measure and replicate the further from the truth we get
me neither, in terms of word for word analysis. yes, I think what you say has something to do with it, and more which I can’t word on the spot. The meaning for me is felt, half apprehended. Yeats is prone to the magical, the obstruse but still manages to express the ‘ineffable’, which all good poets do, right. I really love the last stanza, with its ‘post office’ – it’s such an unexpected note. I’ve read it & it’s given me chills.
thanks, Dean.
i had an idea of doing something grand in the manner of Yeats’ ‘The Statues’, but of course it didn’t work out.