The Endless Column

Who is that beauty?
That's Mademoiselle Pogany, a relation to Lady Shub-ad, the lovely
  Sumerian, and to Nefertiti.
Mademoiselle Pogany is the fairy godmother of abstract sculpture.
She is made up of vaults, curves, pearly casings, and pure sea shells.
She lays white moons through her eyes.

Yesterday upon leaving the studio of the endless column-- the calendar
  says it was about thirty-five years ago-- my hand caught a bit of the
  incandescent evening sky.
It creaked and laughed at me, but I devoured it.
That was my first and last visit at Brancusi's.
Is this hint understandable?
I shall not explain more fully why I never went back to his place and
  all I will state today is my deep admiration for Brancusi.

Night was falling, but the space around a bird was dreaming of feathered
  lightning and failed to notice that the bird had flown away toward the
  studio of the endless column.
The rooster crowed-- cockadoodledoo-- and each sound made a zig or a zag
  in its throat.
Brancusi's rooster is a saw of joy.
His rooster saws the day from the tree of light.

All these sculptures come from a human fountain:
The rooster
The seal
His self-portrait: the endless column
The fish, the giant king of the silexes, swimming in a cloud
The prodigal son who goes up a stairway while coming down
The penguins laying the egg of the newborn baby.
A fountain tells these plastic fables.

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