„Accesul gratuit la poezie este considerat un drept”

     Într-un articol superb din 2010, Durs Grünbein încerca să-i înțeleagă pe acești ciudați care se cheamă poeți, pierzători de timp într-o activitate nelucrativă, fără utilitate și cu deranjante pretenții de artă. Articolul face toți banii. Acolo am găsit și poemul de mai jos, de Basil Bunting, scris în '65.

What the Chairman Told Tom

Poetry? It’s a hobby.
I run model trains.
Mr Shaw there breeds pigeons.

It’s not work. You don't sweat.
Nobody pays for it.
You could advertise soap.

Art, that’s opera; or repertory—
The Desert Song.
Nancy was in the chorus.

But to ask for twelve pounds a week—
married, aren’t you?—
you’ve got a nerve.

How could I look a bus conductor
in the face
if I paid you twelve pounds?

Who says it’s poetry, anyhow?
My ten year old
can do it and rhyme.

I get three thousand and expenses,
a car, vouchers,
but I’m an accountant.

They do what I tell them,
my company.
What do you do?

Nasty little words, nasty long words,
it’s unhealthy.
I want to wash when I meet a poet.

They’re Reds, addicts,
all delinquents.
What you write is rot.

Mr Hines says so, and he’s a schoolteacher,
he ought to know.
Go and find work.