Detested by both men and gods,
like nobles who have bitterly decayed,
the Verlaines wither; wealth remains
to them, of rich and silvery rhyme.
With "Les Chatiments" the Hugos are intoxicated
by their terrible Olympian revenge.
But I shall write a sorrowful
ballade to the forgotten poets.
Though the Poes have lived in misery,
and though the Baudelaires have suffered living deaths,
they ve all been granted Immortality.
Yet no-one now remembers,
and the deepest darkness has completely buried,
every poetaster who produced limp poetry.
But I make as an offering this reverent
ballade to the forgotten poets.
The world's disdain is heaped on them,
but they pass by, unyielding, pallid,
sacrifices to the tragic fraud that
out there somewhere Glory waits for them,
that wise and merry virgin.
But knowing that they re all due for oblivion,
I weep nostalgically this sorrowful
ballade to the forgotten poets.
And off in some far future epoch:
"What forgotten poet" I should like it to be asked
"has written such a beggarly
ballade to the forgotten poets?"
