“I think incessantly of those who were truly great
who left the vivid air signed with their honour”
stephen spender
I think incessantly of those who were truly great
who left the vivid wind signed with their honour
because i am disconsolate about my life’s mean history
i want to torture strength ascend invade the brave air
slay dragons fight wild beasts with my hands
defend the world from disdainful censure
instead i sink in the gutter of my need
and leave the unrecognizing stare empty of my gesture
i think continually of how i’d rather walk with those
astride like a colossus where little men peep between my knees
though i sense conceit in my human estimate
the truly great become a mockery when i measure stars
which shine beyond their death saying nothing bitterly
brilliantly signing the midnight air with their blue humour
and the bare rounds of earth’s orbit memorably assign
the beating rhythm of the opposing seasons
citing no authorities or poets intent on cerebral ritual
or teachers of good rollicking reasons we brainlessly perpetuate
i wear my honour like a cape of washed-out colour
rain and snow lower my brow and the frost steams from my breath
uphill work this desire to survive beyond life
descending to death without tragedy or comedy to humour my posterity
and i thank continually those who wrote across the atmosphere
with trails of glory in their honour
curving across the deep wide blue of who i am with visions
of what i might be an awesome prospect if i could forget
the might-be as a should that draws a shadow over the effusive sun
i wear my honour like a mantle of cloud cover
thinking continually of who am i this day immeasurably greater
for the beating bounty of my frosted breath
vividly writing the bare round rhythm of this winter season
with my white signature
mcmlxxii
