Nietzsche And The Horse Poem by Kevin Kiely

"Was that life? Well, then, once again! " Thus Spoke Zarathustra IV 19

Picture a nineteenth century
cobbled street and a horse
being lashed by a cab driver—
the pitiable creature
with agonised eyes
slumps down in a heap
like Nietzsche from flogging himself
to death, aged 45

He wept, making a scene
in the street. Flung his arms
around the horse's neck—
this personal apocalypse
visited on the drop-out academic
with walrus moustache

bedridden for the remaining 11 years
in a white dressing gown
syphilitic, demented
nursed by his mother and sister
he never wrote
another book
only notes, jottings
from the superman's
superego.

Imagine the wingéd horse
descending on the narrow balcony
of ‘Villa Silberblick' in Weimar
crashing in through the window glass
and frame, on perhaps
a golden sunlit morning

in the cramped bedroom
the philosopher reaches
out to the powerful animal
who prances with silver hooves
knocks over furniture
shattering the washbasin and water jug

out of the window
they go at a gallop
and soon are airborn

the hourglass of existence turns over
again and again

the spiritual psychopath
chews on his conscience
and finds reality endless