When in public poetry should take off its
clothes and wave to the nearest person in sight; it should be seen in
the company of thieves and lovers rather than that of journalists and
publishers. On sighting mathematicians it should unhook the algebra from
their minds and replace it with poetry; on sighting poets it should unhook
poetry from their minds and replace it with algebra; it should fall in love
with children and woo them with fairytales; it should wait on the landing
for 2 years for all its mates to come home then go outside and find them all
dead. When the electricity fails it should wear dark glasses and pretend to
be blind. It should guide all those who are safe into the middle of busy
roads and leave them there. It should scatter woodworm into the bedrooms
of all peg-legged men not being afraid to hurt the innocent or make such
differences. It should shout EVIL! EVIL! from the roofs of the world's
stock exchanges. It should not pretend to be a clerk or a librarian. It
should be kind, it is the eventual sameness of contradictions. It should
never weep until it is alone and then only after it has covered the mirrors
and sealed up the cracks. Poetry should seek out pale and lyrical couples
and wander with them into stables, neglected bedrooms and engineless cars
for a final Good Time. It should enter burning factories too late to save
anyone. It should pay no attention to its real name. Poetry should be seen
lying by the side of road accidents, hissing from unlit gasrings. It should
scrawl the nymphomaniac's secret on her teacher's blackboard; offer her a
worm saying: Inside this is a tiny apple. Poetry should play hopscotch in
the 6pm streets and look for jinks in other people's dustbins. At dawn it
should leave the bedroom and catch the first bus home to its wife. At dusk
it should chat up a girl nobody wants. It should be seen standing on the
ledge of a skyscraper, on a bridge with a brick tied around its heart. It
is the monster hiding in a child's dark room, it is the scar on a beautiful
man's face. It is the last blade of grass being picked from the city park.
(Brian Patten)