Ways of musing
about literature
made the writers’ muse smile
she didn’t like real women.
Her teacher at school became
contemptibly jealous.
She wasn’t caring
so we were told tactlessly
what to read and what to shirk
but she dismayed us for our
uncertainty; books matter;
even that we revolved slowly
in some planetary action
for human salutations
This remade powerfully—
the way to live
or to live improperly was
to read
art works with the eye of truth
and they affected me,
and ironised
other ways of seeing
the ambitions of over-egged theory
and hence our being.
I was educated to love with all my heart
How my heart sings 