– as a severe yet loving father
to a wayward child –
concerning modern poetry
almost alone ring true
in this time of the assassins
of the muse
to accommodate the shoes they make
to take them into easier places
they have laid a vast concrete plain
over the howling archetypal heartlands
this way being a poet is no risk
one just learns the dance-steps
to the fashionable tunes
and sings
with minimal breath
the wild children you called
exist
I have seen them
am one myself
– so have no fear
for the art
(this is no art
but war!)
it is our path
to demolish
what covers
the rich dark earth of the muse
what suffocates
the breath of its trees
leaving feathers and wing-bones
on the parking lot of souls
Ferlinghetti
I just wanted to tell you
I love you
and thanks
for holding up the banner
of life and death
in this land where editors have outlawed
breath
and that which also is beyond
their inner reach:
heart-music, and true speech.
No comments:
Post a Comment