With man’s capacity for pleasure’s pain
I am part of a rascally race, a goat
Who fetches fair price when brought to market.
So what’s the worth of wilderness and mountain?
But, no – I am not easily convinced
The starker beauty of the ancient myths
Must yield to midnight torches, rakes and scythes
To see the “quality of life” advanced…
No, I’m not so easily persuaded –
Though multitudes begin to trace a path
In firestorm and riot – frenzy’s swath
To cut through nature’s ordered calm, aided
By honed appetite, ambition’s principle,
To engineer avenues, boulevards,
Manage union strengths and strikers’ canards,
And mint their counterfeit cities on a hill.
Why does mankind call forth this blackening storm?
These hard-blowing winds? Destruction, pillage?
The rapacity that reigns? O, to pledge
Again by the strength of Jove’s throwing arm!
terrarum delicta nec exaturabile Diris
ingenium mortale queror. quonam usque nocentum
exigar in poenas? taedet saeuire corusco
fulmine, iam pridem Cyclopum operosa fatiscunt
bracchia et Aeoliis desunt incudibus ignes.
uix lucis spatio, uix noctis abactae
enumerare queam mores gentemque profanam!
We screw because it is the closest thing to God. We drink because we were made to praise God. We eat because we need to consume God. And then we realize these things are killing us and we want to take everyone else down too. “Hulk, smash!”
Great poem.
As far as paraphrase goes, Cleanth Brooks would be mighty proud, Mr. Webb.
By the way, if you’re a praying man, would you mind bending some prayers at the Lord for my poor Giants? I think they’re knocking at heaven’s door…
JOB