Movement Motion
I am an Isaac Newton. I have a rage for this page. I look at its columns, its arrangements, and I see something more than mere sentences and paragraphs. I see the grasp of history and the lie of coming attractions.
I am first and foremost a stylist. I play with the elements and label them according to my fancy. What was AB01 today is CF09 tomorrow. I have a pocketful of names and I’m quicker than the eye. Where I hide, you cannot see me. Where I take the stars, they’ll never see me.
I am a lofty denier. Come to me with your calculations, your wrought figures, and I will chalk them down to fancies. Arrest me with your singular visions and pertinent insights, and I will point out the errors of your ways. I trifle shortly with few men. Make sure you are at the front of the queue.
I am gayness and pearls, the lost art of Cumberland. I am a Lincolnshire who moved a few miles across the country. My pigeons flew before me, my geese chewed up the ground, my pigs laid out the land. On the days when I am tired I am far too tired to move. Cleaning ladies laugh at me. I am the butt of their cleaning brooms.
I am the lady in red, the turn of the screw. The moon, when it pulls the seas, pulls me too. The waves, when they wave at the sea, they wave at me too. In night, especially, I am clad in my night-shirt. Candles are snuffed by me. Cheese is nibbled by me. I am a dark hallway walk and a fumble for the handrail.
I am a terracotta lift and the sound of a fall. I let go of feathers before I tackle the coal. In my rooms, during late afternoons, I can hear the touch of the clock. As the wind whistles its pendulum, as the wash forces it to go. I touch it with my cleanest hand. I reassure its wood and soothe its precious vinyl.
I am an Isaac Newton in furs and in pain. I am a hospital porterly and a beep on the screen. I walk the longest corridors and snap the cleanest sheets. The air, it falters near me. I am death and the dying, the fall from the moon. I am the great last gasp of planetary stars and precious open eyes by the light of the moon. In silver I am glow boy, a sprinkling of universe dust.
I am first and foremost a stylist. I play with the elements and label them according to my fancy. What was AB01 today is CF09 tomorrow. I have a pocketful of names and I’m quicker than the eye. Where I hide, you cannot see me. Where I take the stars, they’ll never see me.
I am a lofty denier. Come to me with your calculations, your wrought figures, and I will chalk them down to fancies. Arrest me with your singular visions and pertinent insights, and I will point out the errors of your ways. I trifle shortly with few men. Make sure you are at the front of the queue.
I am gayness and pearls, the lost art of Cumberland. I am a Lincolnshire who moved a few miles across the country. My pigeons flew before me, my geese chewed up the ground, my pigs laid out the land. On the days when I am tired I am far too tired to move. Cleaning ladies laugh at me. I am the butt of their cleaning brooms.
I am the lady in red, the turn of the screw. The moon, when it pulls the seas, pulls me too. The waves, when they wave at the sea, they wave at me too. In night, especially, I am clad in my night-shirt. Candles are snuffed by me. Cheese is nibbled by me. I am a dark hallway walk and a fumble for the handrail.
I am a terracotta lift and the sound of a fall. I let go of feathers before I tackle the coal. In my rooms, during late afternoons, I can hear the touch of the clock. As the wind whistles its pendulum, as the wash forces it to go. I touch it with my cleanest hand. I reassure its wood and soothe its precious vinyl.
I am an Isaac Newton in furs and in pain. I am a hospital porterly and a beep on the screen. I walk the longest corridors and snap the cleanest sheets. The air, it falters near me. I am death and the dying, the fall from the moon. I am the great last gasp of planetary stars and precious open eyes by the light of the moon. In silver I am glow boy, a sprinkling of universe dust.
posted by Paul Saxton at 7:02 PM
2 Comments:
I love the way you have used the Scientific slant in this. Diane - the Scientist - said that she liked the reference to Newton as he is her all-time hero.
I like the idea of using an extended metaphor - you can really feel it pulsing through the language. I also think it is exciting to mix Nature and Science together.
My favourite part is the 'candles are snuffed by me'- this part, in particular to the end of the piece is wonderful. The language use, again, is highly effective especially the subtle assonance of 'coal' and 'fall' across sentences. I'll say it again, so very rich and powerful.
This site is one of the best I have ever seen, wish I had one like this.
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