Dragged around by your name,
Is that all you write for?
Maybe that plus the sense
You’ve expressed yourself well,
Gotten life off your chest?
For the moment at least
That does seem the model
For post-mortem esteem.
A few flashy prizes
Likewise attached to you
Won’t hurt, and equally
Quoted, feted poets
Linked to you socially,
Epistolarily,
Or, best, romantically
And tumultuously,
Make you more important,
More fun to write about.
Gossip canonizes
Or at least saves the names
Of not a few writers.
But it’s those quotations,
Snappy, pithy bon-mots,
Summations and slogans,
Again, linked to your name,
Which firm the foundation
Of high reputation,
Your palace, your grave mound,
Your tomb, your cenotaph.
Even those buried whole,
Their complete works preserved,
Are only immortal
As fragments. Well, and so?
Maybe you’ll be quoted,
Someday, maybe you won’t.
But no one’s stopping you
From writing for reasons
Of your own, which no one
But you will ever know.
Wednesday, September 18, 2024
For a Fistful of Quotations
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18 Sep 24
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