“Faustus is dissatisfied, he wants
To be a god. This makes him human,
We identify with ease”

Why, this is hell,
Which way I fly

“More relevant than small Macbeth
Or senile Lear. There is no blame—
We too aspire, and rightly so”

I wished to be a man. It did not
Make me godlike. There is no blame

“To wall all Germany with brass, or
Trick the students out with silken tights—
Mere symbols of a natural drive”

Which way I drive is hell,
Nor brass nor silk keeps in or out

“The theme is Existential, here and
Now—unlike the plight of Antony
The ladies’ king, or clown Sir Epicure”

Why, here and now is hell,
I cannot but remember

“We each desire to be a god. The
Weaknesses are where the poetry is—
For surely hell’s for other people”

One more bare hour. Which way I fly
The stars stand still, time’s stopped.
I beg to differ, not dissuade.

This Issue

June 17, 1971