steel legs on black plush,
the marble surround...
white leather aligns,
silent forms upon a cold set...
teutonic order reiterates,
a chair dares speak its name...
from barcelona issue,
the form is not so silent yet...
["O Chair shape! Fair attitude! with brand
of leather mend and metal overwrought,
with steel branches upon the trodden rug;
You, silent form, tease us out of thought
as will eternity: Cold Design World!
When old age shall this generation waste,
You will remain, in midst of other woe
than ours, a friend to man, to whom you say,
"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
you know on earth, and all you need to know."]*
*With profuse apologies to John Keats for mauling his lovely last verse from "Ode on a Grecian Urn" for my momentary lapse of indulgence over an unravished, unwearied chair... may you live long and true, la Cadira Barcelona!
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