For I Lov’d the Man

Of all the mountains of Shakespearean

Criticism upthrust in libraries,

The outcrop that is most fascinating,

Distinctively human in appearance,

Almost as if it could breathe, is Jonson’s,

Who wrote, I lov’d the man and doe honour

His memory. His memory! Who else

Could cast a cold eye on Shakespeare’s Caesar

While fondly recalling his friend, the man

Who composed that Caesar and assassins?

For now forget the disappointment when

Realizing no facts are forthcoming

About that man, past Jonson’s opinion

That he was “honest” and “gentle.” Forget

The missed opportunity for Jonson—

An anecdote, a detail, anything

Intimate about the life of his friend.

Just come back to that, For I lov’d the man,

And shiver and consider what one phrase

Like that from a first century rabbi

Or a mono-rhyming Arab poet

Who lived in the days before the first Hajj

Might do for some of our other idols,

Whose names we pray or blaspheme. Not Shakespeare.

Jonson knew the man, loved him, chided him,

And stayed on this side of Idolatry.

Love for a man spared us another god.