Pygmalion Poem by David McLansky

Pygmalion

Rating: 5.0


Such an Artist was Pygmalion,
Aye there’s a tale
To dwell upon,
A carver of ivory, clay, and bronze
Of whom no woman could be fond;
For who would love a man of dust,
Obsessed with Art that fed his lust,
A man who worshipped woman’s form
A gloomy man, morose, forlorn;
A lonely sculptor in ancient days;
He caressed the lines he wrought in clay,
To worship human female flesh
With pure proportions, to be obsessed
To create in Art what was unborn:
A woman of a perfect form;
The polished statues that he made
And sold reluctant in his trade,
With so much love were they wrought
That with the buyer he often fought;
And so he developed a bad name,
Many thought he was insane;
He caressed his statues like a lover,
How shyly he would pull their covers;
To run his hands across a breast,
To feel the coldness of her chest;
To stroke the arms and the hips,
To kiss the hardness of the lips;
Aphrodite moved by bathos,
Took pity on this man of Paphos,
And in a dream spoke to him,
And granted him his very whim:
That in his very next work of Art
She would come alive and give her heart;
Startled he rose from his bed,
The vision filled him with dread;
The very next statue carved
Would be she for whom he starved;
How busily he cleaned his tools,
Reviewing all he learned in school;
What measurements, what ripe proportions,
He could not allow the least distortion;
He would fashion a goddess formed
From callous hands, their joints deformed,
He built an armature of gold,
And bought the purest ivory sold;
He carved, and smoothed, and gently fashioned
What for him had been a life time passion;
He carved the skin’s soft undulations,
With every touch he felt sensations;
His loneliness would soon be gone,
A perfect beauty to dote upon;
With lapis lazuli he set the eyes
How they would gaze on him and prize;
How artfully he formed the breast
That would yield to him in soft caress;
How perfectly he formed the thighs
And as he did he heard a sigh,
The Gods looked down with certain wonder,
Apollo burned and Zeus loosed thunder;
And as he carved the pinky toes
A blush of red slowly arose
In the white along the shins,
He saw the mutation there begin,
What was bone hard he saw turn soft
He marveled as it moved aloft;
And then she turned and moved her head
He scraped her toe and there she bled,
And stepping from her pedestal
Her movements stiff, mechanical,
She clasped him in her perfect arms
And smothered him with all her charms.
He named this beauty Galatee,
And showed her off for all to see;
In his Art he had formed a creature
Who out shown the Gods in every feature

But the Gods looked down from their high place
And saw the pride shown in his face;
“Why should he enjoy such perfection
And their anger grew at each inspection;
He had fashioned such an exquisite mate
That Zeus’ jealousy soon turned to hate
And sent a bolt of lightening down
That threw Pygmalion to the ground;
And when Pygmalion tried to rise
His limbs turned stiff to his surprise’
His muscles burned like molten lead
His arms were iron, all movement fled;
He fought to rise using all his will
But to his amazement his arms lay still;
He tried to curl his lifeless knees,
But they lay stone-like as in a freeze;
He felt his body turn to brass
As if with molten metal cast;
There at the feet of his creation
His body lay with no sensation;
Paralyzed, his body bronzed,
Henceforth no movement summoned on.
In vain he tried to move his legs,
He cursed, he yelled, he cried, he begged;
But the jealous Gods heard not his pleas
And left him a statue at Galatea’s knees.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
David Mclansky 20 January 2014

My love to you as well. I received the flash drive of my MySpace blog site. Had Shakespeare lived longer he would have no doubt thanked Hemminge Condell in raptuous language. You've preserve me. All my love, David

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David Mclansky 20 January 2014

My love to you as well. I received the flash drive of my MySpace blog site. Had Shakespeare lived longer he would have no doubt thanked Hemminge Condell in raptuous language. You've preserve me. All my love, David

0 0 Reply
Elaine Sept 19 January 2014

A moving story told in epic fashion as only you can! xo

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