He was believed by his peers to be an important poet, <br />But his erotic obsession, condemned and strictly forbidden, <br />Compromised his standing, and led to his ruin. <br /> <br />Over sixty, and a father many times over, <br />The objects of his attention grew younger and younger: <br />He tried to corrupt the sons of his dearest friends; <br />He pressed on them drinks and drugs, <br />And of course he was caught and publicly shamed. <br />Was his death a suicide? No one is sure. <br /> <br />But that’s not the whole story; it’s too sordid to tell. <br />Besides, the memory of his poems deserves better. <br />Though we were unable to look at them for a time <br />His poems survive his death. <br />There he appears as his finest self: <br />Attractive, scholarly, dedicated to love. <br /> <br />At last we can read him again, putting aside <br />The brute facts of his outer life, <br />And rejoice at the inner voice, so lofty and pure.<br /><br />Carolyn Kizer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/days-of-1986/
