Classic Poem

The quickest way to maim an artist
is everlastingly to remind him
of something he did yesterday
invariably of obvious appeal
and ephemeral duration:
I faithfully believe
that if God got a little respite
from the deafening hosannahs
of unanimous idolaters,
it would afford the Old Man
a chance to refresh Himself
for the invention of something
desperately new, if not better,
desperately needed today.
To be eternally hailed:
‘Old Chap,
shake a hand with me;
You've never done
and You'll never do
another piece of sculpture
like that little group,
the Adam and Eva—
the most delicious thing
ever shown on the Avenue—
folk raving about it everywhere;
the dealers all vying
in the exhibition of replicas
every Sunday,
Sunday mornings,
Sunday noons,
Sunday afternoons,
Sunday evenings,
Sunday nights—
the critics frantically debating
the merits and demerits
as represented by
the wholesale reproductions—
disagreeing about details,
to be sure,
and one or two
with the particular audacity
to brand this or that
example a fake,
but all agreeing absolutely
that the original—
when You first set
thumbs to the clay—
well, You're a wonder, old Top,
a marvel, a miracle, shake!’
Not even the devil,
that one-time dissenter,
seems to have the energy
to prick the Old Man into action,
provide Him with inspiration—
so for God's sake and ours
I exhort you:
Give the Poor Fellow a chance,
allow Him His day of rest—
even the space of a breath will do,
I faithfully still believe!