Hornpipes and Funerals

“So that since the ever-praiseworthy poesy is full of virtue-breading delightfulness, and void of no gift that ought to be in the noble name of learning; since the blames laid against it are either false or feeble; since the cause why it is not esteemed in England is the fault of poet-apes, not poets; since, lastly, our tongue is most fit to honor poesy, and to be honoured by poesy, I conjure you [… if] you be born so near the dull-making cataract of Nilus that you cannot hear the planet-like music of poetry; if you have so earth-creeping a mind that it cannot lift itself up to look to the sky of poetry, or rather by a certain rustical disdain will become such a mome as to be a Momus of poetry; then […] thus much curse I must send you in the behalf of all poets; that while you live, you live in love, and never get favour for lacking skill of a sonnet, and when you die, your memory die from the earth for want of an epitaph.”– Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)

That delightful teaching
which is the end of poesy
is found to reside

Between Lion and Ass
Between delight and that
Stirring laughter in
Sinful things

To jest at strangers
Tongue-tied by
The Tower’s curse

Suffocated for the lack of
breathing place

caesura

in our midst.

But such
Ink-wasting toys –
tinkling with their
planet-like music –

They cannot save nor raise those satisfied
with their cursèd and dull earth-creeping mind.