Ad captandum vulgas. To please the mob.
An uncommon hatchery for a poem,
much less a lyric meditation
by turns soaring and repining -
a tour through the fascist mind,
through the pride and insecurity that grind
at its foundations.
Is the shadow gliding up against the sun
that of Icarus, denuded of his feathers,
or that of Danton, despoiled of his head?
Is it the archetypal 20th century despot,
a demagogue dictating to the masses,
"beguiling the chambermaid, the tailor". . . ?
Or a radical 21st century bully, a con man
strapping the casement of feathers
to his shoulders, throwing his glove
at the foot of the heavens
"until we fire our torches
foamed of dreams and
fan out pitchforked
into the innocent street". . . ?
Bruce Sager was the recipient of the 2014 William Matthews Poetry Prize
BILLY COLLINS, JUDGE