Graphic Link: http://sc94.ameslab.gov/TOUR/linstatue.html
Do you see a Doric temple rise from faint mists of early day?
The huge pedestal and seat gleam white in glare of pure marble.
What determined its weightiness sculpted of things past, solidified through time?
The demigod sits in grandeur; gazes out over his world.
The face is austere and august; hair, tousled; beard, trim;
jaw, set ; cheek, hollowed; one hand outstretched, firmly moulded
to his chair-arm; the other, clenched. The Colossus overawes those beneath it;
albeit peaceful and stately.
A bus crowd jostles and wedges, afternooning for their tourist albums.
In face of unseemliness, you turn aside. A vision rises before your set eyes,
smelling of sweat, leather and train carriage tobacco.
Dressed in black suit, tall hat and great coat, the phantom fumbles his notes.
A chosen orator begins, proceeds for two hours then, blessedly, a hymn.
The black figure steps forward and in light, clear voice delivers
that famed dedication to war dead. Bonneted ladies shuffle shoes,
gentlemen stare down at theirs.
He has failed them in fewer than three minutes!
You tell of finely crafted phrases the press has misjudged,
the gathering has not digested but spat out as drivel.
I hear you catalogue the sculpted steps climbing through generations
of humanity, construct for me a true edifice, weathering all seasons and ages:
‘It is for us living to be dedicated here …
for these honoured dead we take increased devotion ....’
The paring of language into meaning humbles.
‘ Under God (we) shall have a new birth of freedom.
… that Government of the people, by the people
for the people shall not perish from the earth.’
‘Look in your pocket,’ says a friend, ‘the crafted
work of stature lies on a leaflet, torn and crumpled.’
There, I find a truth: the worded statute of liberty.
Gold trophy winner
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Dee
