Sunday 4 March 2012

Fuck Romanticism

[Sara’s sonnet]*

As Samuel reached his pantheistic peaks,
climbing those heights that the Aeolian speaks,
I wanted my arousal to gather and glow
more than pious interruptus continues to show.
How he feigned to upbraid and repeat the wrong
when in fact all that coyness was to play me along:
were sink and rise my Romantic sixty nine
rather than its volte-face to his poetic decline.

To have shone in that same power of light -
instead my rebuff made such joy take fright.
Could I too have had the tremble in thought
and by the phantasies I secretly sought
there’d be no awe or tamed reversal,
no kowtow to entering Heaven’s rehearsal.

[*] her pathetic riposte to Coleridge’s The Eolian Harp

1 comment:

  1. Clever! This made me smile. Sara is indeed a killjoy and needs to explore the more exciting paths in life. She might even dare to enjoy herself?!?

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