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w/nw Boneyard


monkey

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It's not <i>"foul and rag boneshop of the heart."</I> it's<BR><i>

"the foul rag and boneshop of the heart"</i><BR>

But I don't think it's death he's talking about; it's not the grave. <BR><BR><i>"Those masterful images because complete<BR>

Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?"</i><BR><BR>

He's saying that his life's poetry <i>grew in pure mind</I> but that the source of his poetry and the source of those circus animals that were his life's recurring images is the heart itself: a foul-smelling, messy, complicated place; not the pure romantic angelic place you might assume.<BR><BR>

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Paul - do you follow? By way of the ladders he has ascended to the lofty place of pure mind, but the place "where all the ladders start", the ground where he places the feet of the ladder and the source of his poetry is the "foul rag and boneshop of the heart."
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This one is not so obvious but was taken in a church cemetery in Dorset next to my maternal great grandfathers grave. Elsewhere in the same cemetery is my great great grandfathers grave (and so on back to 1653) very weird feeling standing in amongst 350 years worth of your own blood. Almost all of them stone masons. My grandfather was not buried here but he was christened in the adjacent church....

 

<center><img src="http://www.photo.net/bboard-uploads//00CRbe-23951884.jpg"></center>

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