One more Dèr Mouw for the collection

I rhapsodised about the Parthenon,

afloat its springy mountain like some white

string instrument that through its columns, slight,

gathered the expanse of the world sky in one

great unifying chord of marble sound –

when suddenly a barrel organ, through

the open doors, across the terrace, spewed

its viscous slobber as its owner ground.

Yes, I thought, Brahman’s the Artist: he chose,

as later Shakespeare did, to juxtapose

the elevated and the tongue-in-cheek.

And what in Cyrano de Bergerac

the baker said, with all his glassware smashed,

I thought, il casse tout, c’est magnifique.