and so it has come to pass
that the masculine in poetry is suspect
the feminine distorted into clichés;
that poetry must be effeminate
and weak, and mute, flaccid
and self-pleasingly lyrical, so smoothly soapy
so glossy, so rainbow bubbly
candy-coated with syrupy words
and genteel
and bleating desperately
as in the merciless hands of animal-sacrificers
who offer life to appease a bloodthirsty, angry God
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
remarkable. i hope more people read this poem and realise what you're trying to convey.