What a grandiose claim.
I’m personally offended, Sir.
Maths has nothing to do with poetry.
(That’s not true, of course, but I’m allowed to say it
– It’s called poetic license – )
That’s the strange thing about language
It never does quite what you expect,
and therein lies the rub. Poets don’t want to be predictable
and numbers always are.
The golden mean, having been discovered, and rediscovered, and renamed, over several centuries
is one of the greatest numbers there is
Da Vinci’s sectio aurea
Luca Pacioli’s Divine Proportion
The simple symbol Phi
for the Greek artist and architect Phideas
who died in exile, falsely accused
of stealing the gold for a statue of the virgin Goddess Athena
inside the Parthenon
Phi is present
in The Last Supper
in veins, leaves, and nerves
in Da Vinci, Dali, and Corbusier
in the geometry of stone
and in the magnetic resonance of spins in cobalt niobate crystals
It is the closest reason I have ever been given
for believing in God
So, poet, you may yell all you like
about licenses, and numbers, and words with exponential meaning.
But the ages do not listen to you
And perhaps when you learn
of the life given by an organ
from someone else’s body
you may rememeber
That silence is golden.