From 2764ce38ff89667fc4073fb66cdd634caaffd613 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Thu, 12 Mar 2015 13:01:16 -0700 Subject: Fix #9 - ekphrastisize some poems For ekphrastic articles, add `ekphrastic` node to YAML metadata. This node includes subnodes `image`, `title`, `alt`, `link`, and `class`. `image` provides a link to the local image--just include the file name with the extension, not the folder (all images should be in /img/.) `title` provides the title of the image, and the alt-text, if there is no `alt` node. `alt`, if it exists, provides the alt text for the image. `link`, if present, wraps the image in an `` tag--it should point to the source web page of the ekphrastic image. `class`, if present, sets the class(es) for the image, for styling. In this commit, I've set `ekphrastic` on the four articles that have them so far: 'The Death Zone,' 'AMBER alert,' 'The moon is gone,' and 'Man.' I've also updated .template.html with the changes, and updated README.md to reflect the changes in YAML structure. --- swansong-alt.html | 5 ++--- 1 file changed, 2 insertions(+), 3 deletions(-) (limited to 'swansong-alt.html') diff --git a/swansong-alt.html b/swansong-alt.html index a2c6e57..793a0ee 100644 --- a/swansong-alt.html +++ b/swansong-alt.html @@ -37,9 +37,8 @@ -
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This poem is dry like chapped lips.
It is hard as teeth—hear the tapping?
It is the swan song of beauty, as all
swan songs are. Reading it, you are
puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed.
Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing.
A honking over the cliff is all
they can do, and that they do
badly. You don’t know where I’m going.
You want to tell me, You are not you.
You are the air the swan walks on.
You are the fringe of the curtain
that separates me from you. I say
that you are no longer the temple,
that you have been through fire
and are now less than ash. You are
the subtraction of yourself from
the world, the air without a swan.
Together, we are each other. You
and I have both nothing and everything
at once, we own the world and nothing in it.

-
+ +

This poem is dry like chapped lips.
It is hard as teeth—hear the tapping?
It is the swan song of beauty, as all
swan songs are. Reading it, you are
puzzled, perhaps a little repulsed.
Swans do not have teeth, nor do they sing.
A honking over the cliff is all
they can do, and that they do
badly. You don’t know where I’m going.
You want to tell me, You are not you.
You are the air the swan walks on.
You are the fringe of the curtain
that separates me from you. I say
that you are no longer the temple,
that you have been through fire
and are now less than ash. You are
the subtraction of yourself from
the world, the air without a swan.
Together, we are each other. You
and I have both nothing and everything
at once, we own the world and nothing in it.