The Philosopher, the Young Man, and his Statue
A Fond Athenian Mother brought
A Sculptor to indulge her Thought,
And carve her Only Son;
Who to such strange perfection wrought,
That every Eye the Statue caught
Nor ought was left undone.
A youthful Smile adorn'd the Face,
The polish gave that Smile a Grace;
And through the Marble reigns
(Which well the Artist's Skill cou'd trace,
And in their due Positions place)
A Thread of purple Veins.
The Parasites about it came,
(Whose Praises were too large to name)
And to each other said;
The Man so well had reach'd his Aim,
Th' Original cou'd o'er it claim
Only a native Red.
Mean while a Sage, amidst the Croud,
Thus, with a Precept wise and loud,
Check'd the Vain-glorious Boy;
By telling him, who now grew proud,
That tho' with Beauty 'twas endow'd,
The Figure was a Toy:
Of no Advantage to the State,
'Twou'd neither combate, nor debate,
But idly stand alone;
Bids him beware, whilst Men create
In Stone thus his Resemblance great,
He proves not like the Stone.
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Related quotes
Your Beauty
There goes the the marubic one,
So perfect like a cherubic pure stone,
Realising the ability in her strength,
A smile she displays all day long,
So noble, she is a woman of virtue,
Who is her man? The world asks,
Such gift he posseses they adorn
Beauty management, whats her story
She walks past the dusty streets,
Yet her beauty the dust it resists,
What ointment does she use,
Her face the embodiment of beauty,
So perfect and glorious to them,
Them that appreciate beauty and virtue,
Is it her fine art that flourish her beauty,
Or maybe the wonders of the creator,
Such beauty I never saw,
Such smile the world longs to see
Perfect and ultimately flawless
Beauty is an under statement we know,
What words shall I then use,
Copacetic, a woman with boldness,
Let the man look and ponder,
To look behold and wonder,
Such perfection we never saw,
Such a smile, a flawless act
Your eyes so round and shiny,
Stare at me, yes I will smile
Your lips so soft and ever juicy,
Kiss me and I wont run away
Like the clouds, your whitey teeth shine
Arranged like the stones of the great wall
So consistant and ever oderly,
Your beauty, so magnificent
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Galatea (a riff)
What perfection in eye and cheek,
She shifts her body, I cannot speak,
Her back's soft light of muscled bone
That I would frame in marble stone;
What arrogance in handheld tool
That I could take what's learned in school
And reproduce her subtle beauty
Oh Pygmalion, you fail in duty.
With grace she moves to part the curtain,
In dusky light she stands uncertain
To check the time she has to pose,
What innocence denied of clothes.
Oh Artist here stands your Art
With breathing lips, a beating heart,
She turns to me, head over shoulder,
Complains to me, the room's grown colder.
I take an iron and stoke the coals,
How burns the furnace of my soul,
Oh I would warm her in my arms,
Would violation arouse alarm?
But she resumes her model perch,
Her innocence I would not besmirch,
But I am poor and ill-equipped
To carve the ivory of her hip.
Her perfection stalls my hand
It overcomes my code as man,
I kneel before her radiant beauty
And as an artist forget my duty
poem by David McLansky
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The Statue
I take you looking at the statue
the smile is yours and the stone is you
the stone is simple and the smile is playful
the smile is stolen and the stone is fallen
I ask you to stand and smile like that until
thinking you stone, time has forgotten you.
They say but really I forget
however picturesque
however figurative
whether so often and so quizzical
whoever it was crying in another voice ...
Let us sit like tailors. At least 1 am sure of this:
man or woman or beast I recall no face.
The night is kind so please to bend your arm
hide your head in the hollow of your arm
nobody will take you unawares, nobody
and nobody will take you unprepared
for time it is now to step out of time
and sleep will come as easy as kiss my hand
and you will find sleep kind.
Sleep has few terrors if we sleep like you
it is a cooling shower that falls on you
the water running through mirrors noiselessly
dreaming in doing things you dreamt to do.
But now all brawn Colossus straightens up
and stammers in the language of birds
and the sea goes mincing back into the sunset
strange to have lived so long upon this planet
daylight and moonlight, all the fun in the world.
poem by Kenneth Allott
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Comparison
'Tis by comparison we know
On every object to bestow
Its proper share of praise
Did each alike perfection bear,
What beauty, though divinely fair,
Could admiration raise?
Amidst the lucid bands of night,
See! Hesperus, serenely bright,
Adorns the distant skies:
But languishes amidst the blaze
Of sprightly Sol's meridian rays,-
Or Silvia's brighter eyes.
Whene'er the nightingale complains,
I like the melancholy strains,
And praise the tuneful bird:
But vainly might she strain her throat,
Vainly exalt each swelling note,
Should Silvia's voice be heard.
When, on the violet's purple bed,
Supine I rest my weary head,
The fragrant pillow charms:
Yet soon such languid bliss I'd fly,
Would Silvia but the loss supply,
And take me to her arms.
The alabaster's wondrous white,
The marble's polish strikes my sight,
When Silvia is not seen:
But ah! how faint that white is grown,
How rough appears the polish'd stone,
Compared with Silvia's mien!
The rose, that o'er the Cyprian plains,
With flowers enamell'd, blooming reigns,
With undisputed power,
Placed near her cheek's celestial red
(Its purple lost, its lustre fled),
Delights the sense no more.
poem by William Shenstone
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The best artist has that thought alone Which is contained within the marble shell; The sculptor's hand can only break the spell To free the figures slumbering in the stone.
quote by Michelangelo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sound of Silence
I’m walking down the street
and I hear the sculptor in his house
working on his statue of Krishna
and the chisel rings out on the stone
like a bell that wants to tell you something:
the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;
the sculptor saying, this is prayer;
Krishna saying, I shall enter this.
And I hear in the sound of the chisel on the stone,
as sure as I know my own name,
that the sculptor is listening to all this too.
The bell-like sound lingers in the air
as if the air would keep it for ever
as the air’s prayer. It’s music.
The clearer the sound
of his striking chisel on stone,
the deeper the silence
as if sound and silence between them
know a secret: that sounds like this
can do anything in the world;
even call Krishna with their music
to play at being stone for us.
The stone’s laughing also:
playing at being Krishna.
They’re both laughing.
The sculptor is smiling too.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Smile for me
When you smile,
You create a language of intimate interaction,
When you smile,
You send an instant message of heart to heart communication.
When you smile,
You create a dream world of happiness,
When you smile,
The whole world smiles with you,
When you smile,
The despair and troubles seem so far away,
When you smile,
The hope and cheers seem only a stone’s throw away.
When you smile,
My heart gets the will to survive in distress,
When you smile,
My mind gets the power to overcome all the hurdles.
When you smile,
My heart belongs to you,
when you smile,
The whole world belongs to you.
poem by Jay P Narain
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Statue Got Me High
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
A monument of granite sent a beam into my eye
The statue made me die
The statue made me die
It took my hand it killed me and it threw me to the sky
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And though I once preferred a human being's company
they pale before the monolith that towers over me
The statue got me high
The statue got me high
The truth is where the sculptor's chisel chipped away the lie
The statue made me fry
The statue made me fry
My coat contained a furnace where there used to be a guy
The stone it called to me
(and now I see the things the stone has shown to me)
A rock that spoke a word
(an animated mineral it can be heard)
And as the screaming fire engine siren filled the air
the evidence had vanished from my charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
And now it is your turn
(your turn to hear the stone and then your turn to burn)
The stone it calls to you
(you can't refuse to do the things it tells you to)
And as the screaming fire engine siren fills the air
the evidence will vanish from your charred and smoking chair
and what they found was just a statue
standing where the statue got me high
and what they'll find is just a statue
standing where the statue got you high
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Behind The Smile
(glover)
Behind the smile is great and nice,
Beware of what is in his eyes.
Looks like fun but hes after you,
Its not so funny what that smile can do...
Behind the smile there lies a face,
Filled with cunning but is full of grace.
Comes on friendly but is deadly too,
Beware for hell take care of you...
An innocent soul well it hurts
Im so nieve, thats all you ever see
Behind the smile you cannot see
Lies another fool in misery
Dont be fooled by that friendly grin
The jaws of death are going to draw you in...
Call you in...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anzac Square: What The Digger Said
Said the Digger: 'Soon forgot! Soon forgot, the deeds of war.
Better so, may be. . . Why not?
Beauty fades and laurels rot;
Last year's roses are no more.
Fame?' the one-armed Digger said,
'What of glory when you're dead?'
'Stone and brass,' the Digger said. 'Stone and brass: tho' these endure,
Marble flaunting o'er my head
Would be dead, as I'd be dead.
How may any man be sure
That the hearts of men shall hold
Memories of tales once told?
This alone I surely know: earth I am, and earth shall be,
Only Mother Earth can show,
When I go where all men go,
Aught of this that had been me.
Mother Earth, once stained so red,
She must know,' the Digger said.
'Would you raise, in braggart heaps, stone, cold stone, to mark the fame
Of full many a man who sleeps
Where the earth of Anzac keeps
Guard o'er legions lacking name
Plinth and pillar reared to show
Pomp and pride they cannot know?
'They ask no portentous pile, boasting to a heedless sky,
Stirring men a little while,
Subject, then, for sigh or smile,
Not for this do soldiers die,
With our passing let Pride be,
All we ask is Memory:
'Memory of such fair worth as a fighting man may claim,
And a plot of hallowed earth
In the city of our birth:
Earth that bears a hallowed name.
Let it be envisioned there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.
'Memory,' the Digger said. 'If so be the city judge
Soldiers worthy, who have bled.
Worthy of her love, the dead,
Shall the city, then, begrudge
One wide acre of her soil
For who saved the whole from spoil?
'Here, it may be, by God's grace, our son's sons may sit at last,
In the People's market place,
Knowing truly, as they trace
Memory of me long past,
'Tis enshrined forever there:
Anzac worth in Anzac Square.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Only myself in a crowded street
Only myself walking down the crowded street,
Everyone around me like statues in a park.
Here’s a car waiting to turn,
There’s an old man feeding the birds.
I can picture what there doing,
But their only paused.
As though the video is stopped,
They just stand there waiting for it to play.
This strange new world where all time has stopped,
Why have I been brought to this odd dimension?
Only I can move back and forth,
Only I can reach out and feel their stone cold hands.
Many questions left unanswered,
And no one there to ask.
Desperately I search,
For any sign of life.
Then strangely I see,
A little insect fly.
As though in this despair,
There is something there besides myself.
I follow the butterfly,
As though it is my one last hope.
It lands on a head,
Of one of these statue-like beings.
And suddenly they start moving,
As though given life.
The little flying insect,
Skips from one to another.
Each and every one that the butterfly touches,
Starts moving in their step.
Each action that I pictured,
Becomes real before my eyes.
Then the little butterfly flies,
Back into the sky.
Never to be seen again,
Or so I thought that day.
Then after years gone by,
And I turned old and fragile.
Laying in my bed,
Looking up into the sky.
I saw the little butterfly,
Fly down to where I lay.
Landed by my ear,
And softly spoke to me.
“It is time for you to leave, ”
Said the little butterfly.
“I’ll bring you to a place,
That will give you life once more.”
Then the little butterfly,
Flew onto my forehead.
And flew off to another stone planet,
Leaving my body statue-like.
poem by Jessica Kissner
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Look Home
Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights,
As beauty doth in self-beholding eye ;
Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights,
A brief wherein all marvels summed lie,
Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store,
Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more.
The mind a creature is, yet can create,
To nature's patterns adding higher skill ;
Of finest works with better could the state
If force of wit had equal power of will.
Device of man in working hath no end,
What thought can think, another thought can mend.
Man's soul of endless beauty image is,
Drawn by the work of endless skill and might ;
This skillful might gave many sparks of bliss
And, to discern this bliss, a native light ;
To frame God's image as his worths required
His might, his skill, his word and will conspired.
All that he had his image should present,
All that it should present it could afford,
To that he could afford his will was bent,
His will was followed with performing word.
Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest,
He should, he could, he would, he did, the best.
poem by Robert Southwell
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To the Right Honourable The Countess Dowager Of Devonshire, On A Piece Of Wiessen's
Wiessen and nature held a long contest
If she created or he painted best;
With pleasing thought the wondrous combat grew,
She still form'd fairer, he still liker drew.
In these seven brethren they contended last;
With art increased their utmost skill they tried,
And both well pleased they had themselves surpass'd,
The goddess triumph'd, and the painter died.
That both their skill to this vast height did raise,
Be ours the wonder, and be yours the praise:
For here, as in some glass, is well descried
Only yourself thus often multiply'd.
When heaven had you and gracious Anna made,
What more exalted beauty could it add?
Having no nobler images in store,
It but kept up to these, nor could do more
Than copy well what it had framed before.
If in dear Burghley's generous face we see
Obliging truth and handsome honesty,
With all that world of charms which soon will move
Reverence in men, and in the fair ones love;
His every grace his fair descent assures,
He has his mother's beauty, she has yours.
If every Cecil's face had every charm
That thought can fancy or that heaven can form,
Their beauties all become your beauty's due;
They are all fair, because they're all like you.
If every Ca'ndish great and charming look,
From you that air, from you the charms, they took,
In their each limb your image is exprest,
But on their brow firm courage stands confest;
There their great father, by a strong increase,
Adds strength to beauty, and completes the piece.
Thus still your beauty in your sons we view,
Wiessen seven times one great perfection drew;
Whoever sat, the picture still is you.
So when the parent sun with genial beams
Has animated many goodly gems,
He sees himself improved, while every stone,
With a resembling light, reflects a sun.
So when great Rhea many births had given,
Such as might govern earth and people heaven,
Her glory grew diffused; and, fuller known,
She saw the Deity in every son;
And to what god soe'er men altars raised,
Honouring the offspring, they the mother praised.
In short-lived charms let others place their joys,
Which sickness blasts, and certain age destroys;
Your stronger beauty time can ne'er deface,
'Tis still renew'd and stamp'd in all your race.
Ah! Wiessen, had thy art been so refined
As with their beauty to have drawn their mind,
Through circling years thy labours would survive,
And living rules to fairest virtue give,
To men unborn and ages yet to live:
T'would still be wonderful, and still be new,
Against what time, or spite, or fate could do,
Till thine, confused with nature's pieces lie,
And Ca'ndish's name and Cecil's honour die.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Forever, I am there
I, too was once a human being
Now, mearely a long stand statue
Two large gazing eyes of stone
Who forever waits for you.
I was not what I am to day
Rather I was something else
Your love made me so. A mere
Human being to a stone stained
Now, I live in stone and
You, in my heart. Thus
Call me from anywhere
Forever, I am there.
poem by Vizard Dhawan
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The Best Smile
It was a portrait
Of six feet height
Full size Lady Grace,
Minus lips on her face.
With all his skill
The artist failed still,
To give her a smile,
Free from any style.
He scanned every mile,
For that unseen smile,
One lovely to admire,
Forever, the world over.
Smiles, smiles every where,
But not a smile there,
New, true and plain,
His lady should own.
His wife smiled.
His girl smiled.
His servant smiled.
His boss smiled.
The milkmaid smiled.
The cartman smiled.
The beggar smiled.
The neighbour smiled.
The dandy smiled.
The waiter smiled.
The grocer smiled.
The councilor smiled.
He saw an ambitious smile,
Not an aesthetic smile,
And a cunning smile,
Not a winning smile.
He saw a dubious smile,
Not a divine smile,
And a greedy smile,
Not a graceful smile.
He saw a mischievous smile,
Not a magnanimous smile,
And a voluptuous smile,
Not a virtuous smile.
Smiles, with strings, he found,
Wherever he went round,
But not the best one,
The Lady Grace won.
The smile, the best,
He found at last,
From his own child,
Rocking in the cradle.
Now the Lady Grace smiled.
Thanks to the child.
The portrait was acclaimed,
The best of its kind.
(Longest word in English is 'Smiles'
Because there is a mile between 'S' and 'S')
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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Loitering with a Vacant Eye
Loitering with a vacant eye
Along the Grecian gallery,
And brooding on my heavy ill,
I met a statue standing still.
Still in marble stone stood he,
And stedfastly he looked at me.
"Well met," I thought the look would say,
"We both were fashioned far away;
We neither knew, when we were young,
These Londoners we live among."
Still he stood and eyed me hard,
An earnest and a grave regard:
"What, lad, drooping with your lot?
I too would be where I am not.
I too survey that endless line
Of men whose thoughts are not as mine.
Years, ere you stood up from rest,
On my neck the collar prest;
Years, when you lay down your ill,
I shall stand and bear it still.
Courage, lad, 'tis not for long:
Stand, quit you like stone, be strong."
So I thought his look would say;
And light on me my trouble lay,
And I stept out in flesh and bone
Manful like the man of stone.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Mr. Soul
Oh, hello mr. soul, i dropped by to pick up a reason
For the thought that i caught that my head is the event of the season
Why in crowds just a trace of my face could seem so pleasin'
I'll cop out to the change, but a stranger is putting the tease on.
I was down on a frown when the messenger brought me a letter
I was raised by the praise of a fan who said i upset her
Any girl in the world could have easily known me better
She said, you're strange, but don't change, and i let her.
In a while will the smile on my face turn to plaster?
Stick around while the clown who is sick does the trick of disaster
For the race of my head and my face is moving much faster
Is it strange i should change? i don't know, why don't you ask her?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Love With No Regret
I look at the exit door and i see her,
With the mirage of her shadows from afar.
I look at the past and i see her smile,
A smile that lasted for a while.
She was once my heaven grace,
Now leaving with no trace.
She was my last solution,
But now irritate like pollution.
She once brought happiness,
Now that happiness is lost in this time of darkness.
I thought she was sent from heaven,
Made with all the beauties of heaven.
But i was so wrong of her,
Cos she was never αs amazing like the stars.
I once thought we would have a great future,
Each time i stare at her picture.
I once thought that she could be a great wife,
And that together we would have a wonderful life.
I once gave her my heart,
When we began from the start.
I wonder how it all went wrong,
That made us not to last long.
Then i realised that we were never meant for each other,
For there is no future with us together.
Now she is gone for good,
Far away from my neighbourhood.
I will cherish the moment we had,
Those moment that weren't bad.
I will never forget how happy we were,
That made us forget about our fears.
Those times that gave us joy and fulfillment,
That also brought us contemptment.
I can look back now with no regret,
That i met someone like you on earth.
For you thought me a lesson,
That will open doors to more blessing.
In spite of all that happened you will still remain in my heart,
For when you left you never tore it apart.
My door of friendship will always remain open,
Anytime you want our love story book to be reopen.
poem by Stanley Oguh
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The Most Beautiful by Far
You're the beauty of the stars
And the beauty of a rose
From your cute squinty smile
To your little button nose
No figure on earth
Would dare challenge you
Your beauty is untarnished
From my point of view
When you die and go to heaven
All the angels will sing your name
Wishing every second
That they could look the same
No artist could capture
Your beauty or your grace
Your gorgeous dark locks
And your stunning little face
So when you see a rose
Or gaze upon the stars
You'll know I see your beauty
The most beautiful by far
poem by Patrick Coombe
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Stone Alone
Stone alone hide the unity of the soul
Self centre chiseled in many a form
Partake the centre of the universe
Alone
Stone alone
The griffins grave keepers opening the jaws
Partake shadow in a
Stone
Stone alone
The Sphynx upside down
Clinging to the edges of a smile
Ice frozen on the mysteries
Of centuries Centaur raging at Minotaur
Now laugh all around
Winking cunningly
Gioconda mocking
Drop a glove on the floor
Flirting with death
A black hand will lift
White gloved touch of
Stone
Alone
Stone alone will carve the face
Cut the faces into a living wound of the stone
Rocked in the cradle swinging left right
Tectonically
To the ground
To the stone
Absolutely discentred
Alone
Summon the unity
Aloneness hanging from the rope
Bitter ends of days
Edges crying for the summits
And the summits seeking the edges
In the hide and seek of the soul alone
Stone alone hide the unity of the soul
First ray shattered upon the horizon
Horizon rise
At night alone by day alone
Soul alone stone alone
Carved
YOU
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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