MIDDLESEX FELLS
AND THE BLUE HILLS
Picking at your Merino wool, I simply wonder why.
The long sky is darkest blue, almost perfect in hue,
and it seems as well to stretch for nineteen hundred
miles. If ever these eyes are glazed or waxen, it is
only because - if that's the case - I'm dead. In any
other circumstance, my purely human attention
remains riveted. Every star is, let's say, my source
of wonder. And now I turn to landscape.
-
Every picture ever made is but a semblance of
beauty; an attempt, however feeble, at something
recognizable so as to portray what we ideally
would live. Even all those Turners and Constables,
they put forth the very same message each time.
The world is a seminal vestige of Eden, and we
all are yet living in Paradise. Hard to prove, OK,
but what else is science about? All that feeble
conjecture, like a protuberance, some wart,
on a fractious Devil's nose.
AND THE BLUE HILLS
Picking at your Merino wool, I simply wonder why.
The long sky is darkest blue, almost perfect in hue,
and it seems as well to stretch for nineteen hundred
miles. If ever these eyes are glazed or waxen, it is
only because - if that's the case - I'm dead. In any
other circumstance, my purely human attention
remains riveted. Every star is, let's say, my source
of wonder. And now I turn to landscape.
-
Every picture ever made is but a semblance of
beauty; an attempt, however feeble, at something
recognizable so as to portray what we ideally
would live. Even all those Turners and Constables,
they put forth the very same message each time.
The world is a seminal vestige of Eden, and we
all are yet living in Paradise. Hard to prove, OK,
but what else is science about? All that feeble
conjecture, like a protuberance, some wart,
on a fractious Devil's nose.
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