Friday, November 11, 2016
The Sunday Poet: Bert Stern
After the Election
Dear Du Fu asks, “Does anyone like the poems I write
after drinking the wine of the rich?” Now America
drinks the wine of the rich. How can poems
get written at all? I know, I know, the dharma
is still the dharma, love, though it must lie low,
is still the fire that warms us, the sky, though
gray, hasn’t been jostled loose nor the sun
and moon and stars and earth out of their orbits.
Maybe the soot that’s fallen over everything
will one day wash away.