I’m A Creature Of Phidias Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

Returning from Olympia amazed in France, Rodin,
learn from me, his humble creature, that grief is a womb.

I am the crater of Phidias and I will resound his echo:
‘Athenians, the Art doesn’t need to steel any gold.
By trying me wrongly, you do the same to Promachus
the Virgin of the City, to your Parnopios and Lapithis.’

Those who embittered our teacher, cheat themselves;
they spited him to come here and do more great works.
Thanks to Olympia and Helia that welcome him; so he did
create great Zeus, Apollon as sun, Amazon and Aphrodite
as pteros, winged love, flying from Octavia to Urania.

In his fingers I see the motion of a deer and the air,
the decent olive tree, the affinity of dolphin and horse,
the night’s light, the day’s shade, the heaven’s dimension.

Here, Rodin, the artist even being wounded, he chisels
the marble’s body; it is the artist’s wound and robustness,
unseen by those who wounded him, albeit they look at.

I was watching you leaning, meditating in front of Apollon,
my concave was vibrating out of joy for God who inspired you
to chisel yourself as a man meditating on the Universe.

Art, you never lose. Your sorrow is over and awakens
the spite to create in your foundry more bright marvels.



© JosephJosephides