Shall I inherit the pessimism Schopenhauer gave Or pass through life with Otto Weininger-like shame? Shall I make transitory-like art of Gustav Klimpts gaze Or write some sort of history as Will Durant made? Will I discover much like Arthur Evans and Hugo de Vries Or identify the falsity Francis Galton raved? Shall I claim Herbert Spencer, Ernst Haeckel, and Clemence Royer wrong? Will Nietzsches will to power help me end this simple, doggerel-esque song? O, Auden, You were right! As my writing spews tonight, I think about your poetic might-- As if a Hippocrene to light my small, prosaic verse height, Rightfully, you said: “The Ogre does what ogres can, Deeds quite impossible for Man, But one prize is beyond his reach: The Ogre cannot master speech. About a subjugated plain, Among its desperate and slain, The Ogre stalks with hands on hips, While drivel gushes from his lips.
Posted on: Mon, 29 Dec 2014 12:29:15 +0000