Classic Poem

FIRST MOVEMENT

I can dismiss the praise of all the rest
But when you censure me I still feel blessed.

The praise I get from others is mere guff.
For me your slightest cavil's praise enough

I don't take compliments from anyone:
Your mere abuse is worth a smug well done .

When others praise my poems, it makes me spit.
I just adore it when you say they're shit.

SECOND MOVEMENT

When creeps such as McGarrigle praise my books
I'd give the world for one of your sour looks.

Why do those filthy bastards pat my back?
I'd sooner you frowned and told me what I lack.

Am I obsessed? I want your kicks and blows
Not slimy compliments in Grub Street prose.

Hit me again Abuse me. Burn my books.
I hate their wimbly praise and simpering looks

THIRD MOVEMENT

They think it's love but they've not met my muse.
Give me those beetling brows with their j'accuse .

One word from you and all Parnassus quakes.
A whole choir of cheap hacks go down the jakes.

Down at Groucho's they may quote my quips
But I prefer the gall from your tight lips.

Those boozers at the LRB may grovel,
I'd sooner share the flat beer at your hovel.

FOURTH MOVEMENT

Much though they praise their approbation fails.
I want you on my back with those sharp nails.

People can say what they like; deep in my head
Their smiles corrupt. I want you in my bed.

A brown-noser is of all critics least.
Come bite my ass, you cool sadistic beast.

Your soul's the greatest thing since sliced white bread.
Don't butter me up, god, burn my toast instead.






From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 186, no. 4, July/August 2005. Used with permission.