Why did Socrates, lover of truth,
Hate poetry? Poetry is not scientific proof,
But looks like science and its fame:
The science of details, aloof,
Proud, splendid, phantasmagoric,
Making love and pleasure seem the same.
Stern science knows more of love
Than all of poetry, and its sighs.
Puritan science knows you cannot be
Both sensual and wise.
If you laugh and kiss and coo
There will be no science for you.
Yes! You may get the scientist undressed
To laughter. Love laughs the best.
But keep your love out of the schools—
The mad love of kisses, sighs, and drools.
The world called, with the roar of trumpet and drum,
And one responded, at Delium.
Let’s go with sober Plato
And laugh secretly with him:
There is a sound that wisdom makes
When it laughs, which you might be able to hear:
It is the light of the eye when it is radiant and clear,
A look a lake has, when you see to the bottom—
A perspective, musical and dear,
When the wonder of the child creeps upon
All that you are—and all you are looking on.
Here’s what Socrates knew,
And though you love poetry, I’ll tell you.
The mediums of democracy are the first thing
The oligarch controls:
Entertainment, news production, popularity polls.
This is why for 2,000 years, the State
Made you forgetful, resentful and late.
“Is it hot in here? Or is it just me?”
No. It’s the golden oligarchy.
The common sense of common people
Will see to it things are okay.
But the oligarchy and its poetry
Is dark and leads you to a darker way.
Rosalinda! The poetry you said
Neglected your body. And completely dreamed your head.