This news reminds me that I once wrote this:
Sappho Without Trying
No poems, no neat industry, no eponymous race or colors to invent,
She left nothing in her potpourried drawers or file cabinets;
In fact, she left no file cabinets.
She was one well worth repeating in imagination, though, worth every smooth cent
Of the lipstick and mystique, of the perfume and other per forma scents
That formed her recumbant poetic sense.
Her biographers and monographers grew lazy with their dependence
On volumes of oral information, public, private, willing testaments
Recorded in serendipitous estaminets –
Such establishments as drew the youngish, wide-eyed grad-girls, recent art-department
Types, who were either former former-lovers or former students
(All her lovers being students)
Or bothered, bothersome gentlemen who grew mustaches to call on her and spent
Themselves blind before they saw the raw shock value of artistic genius
As the seduction of genius.
No estuaries of influence, no derivative estimations of achievement,
She left only lacunae; elliptical sea-foam that followed in her wake . . .
And herself swallowed in the wake.
This poem got me het up, and taught me a new vocab word.
Let the record show that JOB has done two (2) good turns for the day.
Bonus points! Thanks, Angelico!
JOB