Vaguely related to the last two posts- and written before Dan Brown gatecrashed the party...
WHAT'S A GRECIAN URN?
Not quite my favourite Poussin painting:
I've been a little suspicious of it
Since I learned it was linked to Rennes le Chateau
And its ever so slightly too blatant message
Is there to blind the plebs while the smug
Illuminati go, "Haw, haw, haw
We know what gives." So is it the Christ-
Progenitor of those long-haired, has-been
Kings- whose body lies in the tomb
I used to care.
I don't, not now- and I'm tired of the crack
About death in Arcady. Leave that stuff
To the young. In the San Fernando Valley
The new Arcadians are getting it on
In their seventies. Why, Channel 4
Showed us a woman purporting to be
A centenarian, having sex,
A little gently because of her bones,
With boys of twenty. One actor said
She smelt of death. No, son, that smell
Was the smell of life resisting death,
Fending ole Joe Black off.
Our title. What's a Grecian urn?
O, lots of dollars doing it
I like Poussin best
When he isn't being so damn illumined,
When it's a lovely day and the chaps
Are up enjoying the fleshly pleasures
(Decorous ones like verse or dancing)
Centre stage and ominous boding
Is kept in the corner, like condiment
At the edge of the plate. A blue-grey corpse
Is hidden in shade where you peer to see it,
A distant citadel gives off smoke.