portrait of the artists

Portrait of the Artists
Sexual tension must have been high
In the room that marvelous day
When Thomas Eakins, probably bi,
Met Walt Whitman, certainly gay.


Sonntag Morgen
It was a pleasant morning in Austria.
Wystan Auden headed for church.
The nearest one was Roman. He thought,
"Well, a beech is a green as a birch."

He found a place in the rearmost pews
And sank down on his Anglican knees.
There flowed about his educated ears
A Latin of soft c's and softer g's.

Hymn time came. He raised his voice,
Loud and offkey, in praise of God.
In Heaven there was a pause. God said,
"I'm hearing something very odd."

"That's Auden's accent," St. Peter said.
"Remember what he wrote about Claudel?"
"Remind Me. What was it that he wrote?"
"That You would pardon him for writing well."

"And I did, didn't I? Pardon him, I mean?"
"Yes, Lord. You did. You alwas do,
Disappointing all those fundamentalists
Who thought Hell's eternity was true."

God smiled. "Is it My fault that human minds
Can sometimes be led so far astray?"
Peter thought it was, but held his tongue
For what passed in Heaven for another day.

God seemed to think a while. Then said,
"Make a note, Peter, in that ledger you keep
To save room in the Mansion of Poetry
For Auden when he takes his Final Sleep."

Peter thought of the mansion God mentioned,
That place he considered a loony bin.
"No problem, Boss. You make so few poets,
I can always cram another in."

But the Almighty was no longer listening.
Tapping His toes, a grin shaping His mouth,
He'd tuned in to a black Baptist service
From a town in the American South.


The Old Formalist
Reads a Book of Criticism
A not very good poet has published
A very good book on the art.
Accidents are best described by those
Who have not taken part.


The Old Formalist Responds
To a Line in a Mary Oliver Poem
"...oh, have you
                looked wistfully into
                                the flushed bodies of the flowers"
                                                                        --"Whispers"
No. Can't say as I ever have, I answered
In a voice both wistful and hushed.
I have a policy of never looking into
Anything that might be flushed.