. . .the poet—
brats in the street fling shit at him. . .
--George Seferis, “Three Secret Poems”
As a matter
Of course he viewed
His art as nothing
To be jeered at,
Yet whoever had
Put together that
Display of words
And set it down
Without even once
Having thought
Twice about how
It would be received—
Should not that hapless
Spectacle of self be rewarded
With poesy of like kind left
To fend for itself like that?
