The Virgin Considered As A Picture

Rating: 2.8
Her unawed face, whose pose so long assumed
Is touched with what reality we feel,
Bends to itself and, to itself resumed,
Restores a tender fiction to the real.


And in her artful posture movement lies
Whose timeless motion flesh must so conceal;
Yet what her pose conceals we might surmise
And might pretend to gather from her eyes


The final motion flesh gives up to art.
But slowly, if we watch her long enough,
The nerves grow subtler, and she moves apart


Into a space too dim with time and blood
For our set eyes to follow true enough,
Or nerves to guess about her, if they would.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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COMMENTS
Ken Armour 23 April 2012
These are not comments And certainly not poems Bowers IS a poet Leave him alone He needs no pedantic analogy Oops I just did the same
0 1 Reply
V.e. Perkins 22 April 2012
The subtlety and perfection of this Petrarchan sonnet reveals Bowers as a genius of insight and a master of language. I bow before the man who could see and say at this high level. Vivienne
0 1 Reply
William F. Dougherty 23 January 2011
A masterly sonnet on a delicate analogy. 'Ut pictura poesis.'
0 1 Reply

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