A High-Toned Old Christian Woman

Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.


Of all the poems we were told to read over the weekend, this stuck with me the most. Firstly, I was struck by the tone of the poem. It's kind of no-nonsense, this is how it is, you are wrong. It's not necessarily bitter or malicious, but it is very firm. There is a lot of passion behind his words. For him, this is it. This poem is incredibly Lucretius. "Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame. Take the moral law and make a nave of it And from the nave build haunted heaven." He calls her belief not only fiction, but childish. Although he says later that they "agree in principle" she is finding meaning in childish things which do not exist, and, therefore, she is only kidding herself. Her life is empty. 

I think it's interesting when he says, "Proud of such novelties of the sublime." This, I think, is the most powerful line in the poem, or, at least, it is the line that struck a chord in my mind. "Novelties" and "sublime" are two words that should never be seen in conjunction with each other, and yet here it is. It shows how she has given her whole self to this belief and found joy and a sense of sublimeness that is false. So false as to be called a novelty. It is interesting that he acknowledges her false understanding of the sublime and, although, again, they share the same principles, she is only kidding herself. Her life is fiction, and it's sad. He follows this line with complete gibberish, reflecting the gibberish she spouts daily. 

Mostly, this poem caught my eye because of "novelties of the sublime." I thought this was a sadly beautiful line which brings many images in my mind. Immediately I thought of the blissful ignorance of a child, who has absolutely no idea of what the world truly holds.