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ON THE SUPERFICIALITY OF ART
How can poetry be
anything besides deceit?
How else can poets adapt to emptiness?
When the masters discovered
how meaningless the world is,
naturally they were disappointed.
So they responded with irony, satire,
putting on airs, all kinds of tyranny.
Some even went mad.
Nowadays we usually just binge
on topics urgent as our selves,
our longings for justice and a stable home.
Meanwhile the world keeps behaving
according to its god: change?
meaningless, inevitable, merciless change?
obedient to that god's twin commandments
endless death, never-ending generation.
Watching their children grow, every father
every mother already knows this...
this renewing emptiness.
Beyond joy. Beyond sadness.
How can poetry be
anything besides deceit?
How else can poets adapt to emptiness?
When the masters discovered
how meaningless the world is,
naturally they were disappointed.
So they responded with irony, satire,
putting on airs, all kinds of tyranny.
Some even went mad.
Nowadays we usually just binge
on topics urgent as our selves,
our longings for justice and a stable home.
Meanwhile the world keeps behaving
according to its god: change?
meaningless, inevitable, merciless change?
obedient to that god's twin commandments
endless death, never-ending generation.
Watching their children grow, every father
every mother already knows this...
this renewing emptiness.
Beyond joy. Beyond sadness.