The English had two great advantages; they were neither so learned nor so Court-bound as the Italians and French. —Richard Aldingtion, from the introduction to his The Viking Book of Poetry of the English-Speaking World, Viking press, 1941.
Travel in this anthology and find
one great poem that brings Rosalinda, who is gone, to mind.
That is what sweet lyrics do best—
they make their way into your chest
and finalize in your heart the world.
You search poem after poem. Not one
is as torrid as the sun—
they all lecture you, and are wise.
One poem makes you weep,
a sonnet on page nine hundred ninety five.
The Augustans barely kept you alive,
the rhymes of the Romantics were perfect;
Milton succeeded! Praise all great poems!
And in the middle of victory and confetti,
tears stream down your face—
a sentiment spoken near a resting place,
“Remember” by Christina Rossetti—
underrated, as women poets always are,
who are guided by love
under a fantastically unlucky star;
a poem already written
by the time you were smitten—
a sentiment spoken as if by her—
shallow, full-figured, Rosalinda—
who is no longer here, but if she were,
this is perhaps what Rosalinda might say
as Christina shows you the pathos of Rosalinda’s last, dying day.
(Night falls as you read the anthology.)
Careful how you choose the bravery
of a life. This—your poetry anthology—
includes no poems of yours. Far
down the road, Rosalinda lives here.
Look! Kipling and Browning are buying her a beer.