Man’s grudging progress out of slime Assessed without the agitprop, Denied false hope, or mock sublime, Stripped bare of sentimental slop, Suggests those cynics have a point Who say that progress doubles back, That love and war are hip-wise joint, Each prompts the other to attack. Our modern stage seems oddly bare Among deracinated arts With hope uncoupled from despair, Life’s theater runs in fits and starts. And on such days, irreconciled, I feel Greek tragedy knew best, There everything seems mixed and wild Behind who’s dying and who’s blessed. Its vision of the human race When man could scream against the gods, Expect no interlude or grace With all the deities at odds. We preach decorum yet I feel Inclined to side with vile abuse More then the commentators spiel Or false solemnity of news.
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I love the opening.
'grudging progress out of slime' seems about right.
Thanks for this. The words distill a great deal of what I think.