Sprintedon Hollow

[ Other than "The First Sunday of Advent" (which was in 1974),
   my original copy does not mention day names; but it does note
   that 1975 was the year of the December 14 (which was also a
   Sunday) prayer, implying that I penned the remaining prayers
   in 1975.  Even though I cannot prove this, I am accepting it. ] 




December 14: Sunday (1975)


Letters.  Mine.  The copies I have.
If I were to read them over again,
I would be appalled by the uneasiness
with which so many of them were written,
the overblown rhetoric there,
the false pride.

How is it possible
I can consider myself at all
to be half as blessed
as even a Shelley or an Auden
to say nothing of a Shakespeare or a Whitman
when such an abject crowd of letters
exists to denounce me?

Certainly the important critics and editors of this moment
have not praised my poems especially,
if indeed they have chanced to read them;
but how can I expect them to
who himself--?
..................... Letters.  Mine.
Promethean, Hephaestean, ashen.

So also my poems.  Read them.
What delights you, keep.
What disturbs you, consider.
What your best critical intelligence tells you
was poorly made, condemn. 





for copyright information see homepage     Brian A. J. Salchert                  

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