Not all the works that flow from poet's pens
Belong to them; not in a larger sense.
If looked at through a non-authorial lens
Such a belief would seem completely dense.
A thousand pressures lie upon a poet:
The tenor of the age, its cares, its strains;
Each one a seed, if he should choose to sow it
That will not quite preserve his soul's remains,
But rather social energy in glass,
Shining out freely to posterity.
A selfish poet is a total ass,
For he wastes time for all eternity.
So when you read my poems, think you read
Not what I wanted, but what culture said.
No comments:
Post a Comment