Thoughts on a National Tragedy

For what it's worth, the world still turns
upon its gyre, so likely we will see the sun
tomorrow, and the next day. Fire burns,
wind blows, and even one and one
still equal two. Most things don't change,
though good and evil sometimes rearrange.
Even at death, the sick man's blood
will fever up in searching for a cure.
And all the world may go to fire and flood
but youths in love will still believe it good and pure
and make their vows. Walls, floors, ceilings
stand or fall regardless of the finer feelings.
Though ideals fail, new grass will shoot
up from the ground, the weave of silk
still feels the same, as does the smell of fruit.
And people still will purchase bread and milk
despite the death camps. Life advances
amid the best and worst of circumstances.
And, no--these little things won't save us.
The souls who found delight in clever craft
of pottery or poetry still did outrageous
genocides. The Nazis laughed
at bad jokes with their fellows. What is primeval
in human life is given to the good and evil.
So, learn it now: the world's not blessed.
Still. Each day, infants blinking from their birth
reach blind hands out for mothers' breast
and mostly find it,
for what that's worth.

In which I make allusions

I take my title from "The Strange Case of Mr. Fortague's Disappointment" which I quote here in the earnest hope it isn't under copyright. It is one of my favorite poems, for reasons which I have never been able to adequately articulate. Something about not taking yourself too seriously, maybe?

THE STRANGE CASE OF MR. FORTAGUES DISAPPOINTMENT 
by Ogden Nash

Once upon a time there was a man named Mr. Lionel Fortague.
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He didn't have very much to talk about.
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In summer he used to ask people if it was hot enough for them.
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It always was.
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In winter he used to ask people if it was cold enough for them.
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It always was.
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Mr. Lionel Fortague got pretty sick of people it was hot enough for.
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He got pretty sick of people it was cold enough for, too.
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He decided he would arise and go now;
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He decided he would go to Innisfree.
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The people of Innisfree are different, thought Mr Lionel Fortague.


As soon as he got to Innisfree he asked the people if it was cold enough for them.
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They asked him What? Was what cold enough for who?
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Mr. Lionel Fortague was delighted.
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I knew Innisfree would be different, he said to himself.
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He could hardly wait for summer to verify his conclusion.
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As soon as summer came he asked everybody if it was hot enough for them.
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Everybody said the question was familiar but they couldn't remember the answer.

Mr. Lionel Fortague said he would settle down on Innisfree, the home of iridescent chitchat.
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He said he would a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made.
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Everybody said did he mean he would build a small cabin there, made of clay and wattles.
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Mr. Lionel Fortague said yes, but his way of putting it was more poetic.
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Everybody said maybe, but they were all out of wattles.


Mr. Lionel Fortague grew very angry at the people of Innisfree.
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He a small cabin built there, of clay and beaverboard made.
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He a fierce-looking dog at an annual clearance sale bought, and it the people of Innisfree one by one to bite he instructed.
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My, he was disappointed.
~
He had forgotten that a bargain dog never bites.

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Post edited to include the poet's name.