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|Arts & Entertainment "Beauty in art is often nothing but ugliness subdued." The written word, the spoken word, performance art, visual art. What is "Art?" From television advertising to opera, comic books to classic literature, vacation snapshots to the Sistine Chapel Frescoes; we are exposed to art every day. What is art to you?|
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|28-07-2011, 03:30 PM||#1 (permalink)|
A Poor Widow's Son
Updated Percy Shelly Poem
I'm posting this witty updated classic by Shelly in this "Arts" Thread. Move it at your discretion, Mods.
First, the original written by Shelley.
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
I met an idiot from a troubled land
Who said: Two vast and headless ears of rock
Lie in the rubble. Near them, on the strand,
Half sunk, a half-assed half-breed face, whose schlock
And smug and pompous sneer, speak of command
Abandoned, wealth destroyed. The name Barack
In bold-faced, gilt-edged haughty script screams out
A message boldly carved on crumbling stones
Which proffers hope and change for fear and doubt:
“Vote For Obama To Save the Dow-Jones.
He is the iWon we’ve been waiting for.”
Nothing works or prospers in the decay
Of that once-great system he did ignore,
And the Chinese now rule from far away.
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