Poem of the day by Poem.com

Frank Bidart

is an illusion. It’s true, it’s human nature to try tounbendwhat for centuries human nature—with great wisdom, greatpain—bent.What had to be built we knew instinctively must be builtwithoutasking permission of the ignorant doing the building. But naturalpitysoon endswhen what pity unleashes is CHAOS, ishorror.The cauldron that has always been the sourceof forcewe have learnt slowly, in time, how to control. Have learnt toenslave(you would harshly say) more subtly. More, you would say, cunningly.Think the American Civil War,—. . . followed by a century of Jim Crow.If you do not become a masteryou are a slave.        •The voice of What had to be built leaves certainwords bodiless. The Lost Cause, strangefruit, was lost, for us, in a song about lacerated flesh.When a master stares at himself in the futurewhat he fears is that the world will do to him whathe did to the world when he was the world..