wordsout by godfrey rust
Postcards from Florence  < 3 of 5 >



Donatello

Brunelleschi’s Dome was built, like Babel,
to reach a little nearer towards God

than the one in neighbouring Siena.
Donatello’s pulpits (two of them? in one church?) stand

like Martians from Wells’ War of the Worlds. Pride
and market forces fuelled the Renaissance, and yet

regard the scale of their technology:
their patience hushes the click of the mouse.

Far from the stink of leather in the streets,
and the pavement artists chalking out the Masters

one photo, one money!—we browse
Botticelli on CD-ROM and stroll

through a virtual Uffizi, mortals tinkering
with the colours of divinity on our infinite palette of pixels.


Third of five poems in the sequence Postcards from Florence.

Godfrey Rust 1996, godfrey@wordsout.co.uk. See here for permissions.

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