Mr. Rexroth,
May I call you Kenneth? Perhaps not.
I still call most people older than me by
Mr. or Mrs. or by whichever their
Formal title may be, only because I was
Brought up to respect my elders.
I still do.
A friend of mine introduced me to
Some of your writing now, what feels like
Ages ago. When I was younger
I wanted to write poems that sounded exactly
Like yours, ones that stood the test of time
Ones that would move people like
When We With Sappho
Still moves the disassembled hearts of
dead men.
The task of having any writing at all
Stand up on its own merit, I’ve discovered,
Is much harder than I first knew.
I fear there isn’t much room left in this world
For dreamers like me, ones that see past
Pretenses of people. All I wanted was for
A few people, just to listen.
You’ve been gone for far too long and time,
Time only moves in one direction. I grow older by the moment.
Nobody cares anymore about the written word.
But for some reason I come back to Sappho,
All those words of love you wrote ages ago
And I haven’t quite given up.
Not yet, at least.
D.H. Lee
(via Swanksalot)