The mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers
Hooked in the stones of the wall,
The storm-wrack hair and screeching mouth: does it matter, Cassandra,
Whether the people believe
Your bitter fountain? Truly men hate the truth, they'd liefer
Meet a tiger on the road.
Therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion—
Vendors and political men
Pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for kind
Wisdom. Poor bitch be wise.
No: you'll still mumble in a corner a crust of truth, to men
And gods disgusting—you and I, Cassandra.
Robinson Jeffers (January 10, 1887–January 20, 1962)
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
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2 comments:
Dave,
Any particular significant about the poem or did you just feel the need to be poetic today? Just wondering, I like the poem.
I liked the part about people choosing truth over lies, and it was his birthday.
I also am feeling a need read a bit more poetry, but I'm sure that feeling will pass.
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