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)
Dave,
ReplyDeleteAny 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.
ReplyDeleteI also am feeling a need read a bit more poetry, but I'm sure that feeling will pass.