Modern poets, like modern art,
Are quick to loose the tricky part.
The few blue squares, the splashed azure,
The dribbled free verse, sense obscure,
Will not wash with he who knows,
they are the Emperor’s new clothes.
If words came only to your cost
Be sure there'd be less meaning lost.
And as for you that despise the rhyme,
I’ll remind you of another time,
When Wordsworth, Longfellow and Pope,
Amassed a fame beyond your hope.
Vague abstractions have no part,
In proper, representational art.
I’ll trade your Pollock, Braque and Klee
For just one of da Vinci.
But if you must, then do your worst,
Only show you can do the hard part, first.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem