Our eyeless stares, the endless stairs constrain;
Figures of proportional intention,
We blandly trudge from plane to transformed plane.
Warping up and wefting down in vain,
Aching for a canvas of convention,
Our eyeless stares, the endless stairs constrain.
Incidental in some artist’s brain;
Ageing embryos in mock pretension,
We blandly trudge from plane to transformed plane.
Playing out a lifestyle so mundane;
Stepping casually across dimensions,
Our eyeless stares, the endless stairs constrain.
Hear our lipless screams of inner pain
From hyperbolic heads in meek dissension;
We blandly trudge from plane to transformed plane.
So as the mathematical explain,
Confusion is this mother of inventions.
Our eyeless stares, the endless stairs constrain;
We blandly trudge from plane to transformed plane.
I'm fascinated by this piece. It wouldn't be the same without the drawing. I'm just reading at the moment the Douglas Hofstadter book, Gödel, Escher and Bach: An Eternal Gold Braid, which talks about... well, all sorts of stuff including Escher drawings and strange proofs in maths. I think this poem fits in perfectly with some of the ideas there - you may care to take a look at it sometime (it was recommended to me 27 years ago and I've only just got round to it!)
ReplyDeleteA lovely bit of writing, and quite different from other pieces here, in your 'can-never-guess-what-you'll-do-next' style!