Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Mature Poets

There are two kinds of thieves: the kind
I am and the outlaw someone,
Probably divine, would intend

Me to be. When Bob Dylan took
A few phrases from the poet
Of hopeless confederation,

Tuberculosis and visions
Of poesy, Suzanne Vega rose,
Unbidden, in print, to defend

Him, more or less, along with those
Who joined her at the barricades
Whose profession is to profess

That dying, coughing, hopeless art
Called English. Dylan, she noted,
Without considering his name,

Has been a cool songwriter, and
Would probably enjoy being
Called an outlaw, as wouldn't she,

Her quotation of herself next
To vaguely similar Rumi,
Translated, would have us believe.

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