Eclogue Of The Liberal And The Poet

LIBERAL

In that place, shepherd, all the men are dead.

POET

Yes, look at the water grim and black

Where immense Europa rears her head,

Her face pinched and her breasts slack.

LIBERAL

I said, shepherd, all the men are dead.

POET

Shall I turn to the road that goes America?

Is that a place for men to be dead

Or living? If you don't mind being asked.

LIBERAL

Try it and see. It's a pretty good way

To skim three thousand miles in a day

And none of them America.

POET

But what about her face and the tasked

Wonders of her air and soil, her big belly

That Putnam writes about under the sun?

LIBERAL

I don't know Put, I don't know his Nelly-

To name her that if she'd name it fun

But you know she hasn't any name,

Nowhere you touch her she's the same,

POET

What, shepherd, are we talking about?

LIBERAL

You started it, shepherd.

POET

Shepherd, I didn't.

LIBERAL

You did; you saw the poetical face of Europe.

POET

You said it was no place for men to be.

LIBERAL

I meant seawater; you thought I meant hope.

POET

Hell, I reckon you think I am a dope.

LIBERAL

I didn't say that; I said there was no place.

POET

If not in a place, where are the People weeping?

LIBERAL

They creep weeping in the lace, not place.

POET

Is it something with which we may cope-

The weeping, the creeping, the peepee-ing, the

peeping?

LIBERAL

Hanging is something which I will do with this

rope.

POET

Alas, for us who peep, weeping.

Alas, for us you see but little hope.

LIBERAL

Alas, I didn't say that; you rhymed hope with rope.

I meant I was going to hang us both for creeping.

POET

Afterwards they could process us into soap;

Afterwards they would rhyme soap with hope.

BOTH

What a cheerful rhyme! Clean not mean!

Been not seenl Not tired expired!

We must now decide about place.

We decide that place is the big weeping face

And the other abstract lace of the race.

LIBERAL

Shepherd, what are we talking about?

POET

Oh, why, shepherd, are we stalking about?