While I am on this egotistical binge when I was watching `The Boxer'
this afternoon it occurred to me that a poem of ten years ago was
relevant to my thinking on poets and poetry. So I will append it:
The Natural
gifts of all abundance were given him
but he had no time for that and reeked of sorrow
until the last challenge
when he threw off his cloak of doubt.
for he had loved beauty all the years of his life
and had fallen in love with the beautiful,
the animal that shared his torture,
she who gave nothing to no-one.
never been kissed and cuddled, never played ring-a-roses
an antiquated childhood without merit
preserved intact by his dreams
`Some day I am going to be somebody'
Mistaken footloose unheralded
he slips away into the night
an unknown celebrity who has attended
the formal closure of his deepset fears.
Now in the night of his days he knows greatness
But it is for himself not the world
Never again will be the sweet bloom of youth
when he transfigured a generation by his statements
for the natural it is over
his reward is himself
he fought eternity to a standstill
and takes his prize.
from `Coatham' (Benjamin Press, 1989).
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