The Fall of The West
As approach the final days, the children of the Old Greek, the Hollywood worshippers and Pop Art auctions — I ode this despicable culture I’m made of
On a conversation about the decline of the western civilisation, I told a friend I don’t believe we will ever fall. Instead, we shall be eternalised by our excellence in the gift of art. And hereby I ode the culture.
The Last Lines of Hesperus
Collectively, I reiterate a disbelief that the west would never demise But I keep a list, individually twice, of routes I must take Before the grand finale of this play And how I love this play! I must act quickly, unstably, 1. spend some time in New York, in a dirty lane Writing the lovemaking of the uncivilised — I am one deep Inside, 2. Tour Europe again, but this time I’ll forget the underwear Learn the true meaning of French poetry that I could never Get; Learn for once the British accent by praying blokes; Subvert some servers at their altars in Rome; Have a German call Me names angrily, 3. And Greece: If I have to see this metaphysical magnum Opus undone, I must wait for the end of my days where it began I must die in the sea Aphrodite was born I must breathe the air of Sappho and all the melics The last chapter, the final episode I must eat six pomegranate seeds, buy my ticket To the rebirth And Art will make sure we’re all remembered And even the songs that never got to see the sun And the lovers that never got to the moment of fusion And the last words that got stuck face the explosion Art will eternalise us Art will eternalise Art will Art
After writing that poem, with the thrill and melancholy I felt in doing so, I intend to write some more, a chapbook, perhaps. I never thought such subject would be so emotional. Perhaps, I’m getting old and time is becoming linear.
Love,
L