When I hear the word poetry
I fear I shall soon lose money –
Call me a miser if you wish
This dread is based on raw experience
To which I would subscribe
In preference to their curious magazines
In my time a poet was paid outright –
Infrequently he might receive
Requests to read without a fee
Now that measure is taken as read –
Soon he will pay admission
To his very own Poetry Reading
Such a disadvantaged state deserves
Its blackleg egoists
Who seeking urgent audience take all
By dint of doing everything for free! –
They rob the wine and bread of those
Who lack their private income or tax haven
Do they feel they have something to say
That will not wait –
As schoolboys who rush home to blurt their news?
And that is why today
All poetry counts for nothing –
Too many clever simpletons disdain the common good
A PIERCING
Silvio – that ring through your nose
Just call it modern poet
Why?
You silly beast it means
Any fool may lead you anywhere
On the promise of a Reading or
A Pamphlet Publication without payment
Bernard Saint
Illustration: Claire Palmer