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I don't care much
about what people will say
about me
after I'm gone.
They'll say nice things.
They always do.
They say nice things
about the worst people.
They say Hitler loved his pets
and had a charming way
with children.
Wrote poetry too.
As a boy Stalin sang
in the church choir
and wrote poetry.
They say
he was a lover of the arts
his whole life
and was a voracious reader
with a curious intellect.
People who knew him personally
said he was affable.
Pol Pot had a pleasant demeaner
and people say they enjoyed his company.
He was self-effacing,
soft-spoken,
and exuded warmth.
Pot had a special affinity
for French Romantic poetry
especially for Verlaine.
So, as a rule,
don't believe people
who say nice things,
they can't help it.
And if they say
about me
that I wrote poetry
be suspicious.
3 comments:
Hilarious! I didn't know if I follow your convoluted logic though ... even if all of those evil guys really did write or enjoy poetry (I'm skeptical that they did), correlation doesn't imply causation. Not sure if I should be suspicious of all poets just because these guys might have written a poem or two.
And anyway, I've got lot of nice things to say about you while you're still alive. Comparing yourself to Hitler, Stalin and Pol Pot ... well I beg to differ!
I think I was thinking about eulogies and funerals, since I’ve attended three in the last few weeks. Thinking about senseless death, mortality in general, the futility of words. Eulogy words, poetry words, nice words that people say, ‘cause they can’t help it.’ Not sure any of it makes any sense.
Yes, there's a kind of formula to eulogies (like there is to almost everything in life), and they all start to sound the same after awhile. Unfortunately. We're all the same schmuck, as Lenny Bruce used to say.
By the way, I picked up a nice used copy of "The Collected Poems of Atilla the Hun" in a bookstore recently ... in pristine condition.
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