Wednesday, August 31, 2005

apologia pro poemate meo

To flee, or not to flee: that is the question:
whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
the insults of angry Duwamish residents
outragèd by the nocturnal visitors
to their sceptored isle and from
that nether world
return once more to safety and the shore
and bid farewell to those brave ferrywomen
who, in their anger, all now have gone on strike?
Devoutly to be wish'd. To flee, to dream;
To dream: perchance to dream of that other world
wherein our heavy, mortal bodies lie.
Or ask wherefore we do desire to stay
in fair Lemuria, there to dwell
in pleasant creativity of thought.
To enter again that brave hermitage
where we have known such peace as cannot yet be found
here in our earthly lives unless we travel
to the flowing waters of the bath house
and, in sweet communion with dolphins bright,
wash all the cares away that wear us down.
Or quail before the Gorgon and prepare
a song or dance in which she might delight
and in return, each shall a gift receive:
a snake who will a true companion be.
No traveller returns, without that s/he
a visit to a nearby fountain makes
and in its healing waters seeks forgiveness.
But soft, who goes there? we hear a footfall
Of one who does approach for earnest speech,
us to the nearby gypsy camp to invite
where we, the lucky ones, will fortune find
inside the soft darkness of mad Rosa’s tent
for she will tell us what we need to know
and set us forth upon our path once more
when we will bless that fairest of enchanters
And sing Heather’s name aloud.

(with apologies to Shakespeare)


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