You fish for feedback so you can improve;
You crave creative candid criticism of your oeuvre:
You seek the sage submissions they submit;
You ask for arguments against your wit.
But all you reap are rudimentary reflections,
Slick sycophants slip sick, saccharine suggestions
Adoring acolytes augment with adulation thick
While whimpering well-wishers wash wet with hero-worship.
Yet when the one true critic prates his prose
You stagger from the brusqueness of his blows
And reel, refusing to accept analysis.
As he explains exactly how it is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem