Alfred Behrmann 

Berlin, Germany 

If he deserves it, what should be known about a writer of poetry is his poems. If they require exegesis, it is not for him to perform it. Nor does it seem that acquaintance with his personal situation affords more insight into his work than does attention to the texts. "Ars Poetica" forms the opening of Volterra, a collection of poems designed as a pattern where the parts receive additional meaning form their place in the context. "Parting" concludes the fourth of the five divisions of this book.

Ars Poetica

For goodness' sake,
Plead his friends,
Cut out the razzmatazz.
Make a point and get it across.
Use slang. And put some jargon
Into your stuff. All right, say some,
The keener diagnosticians,
Perhaps it's not the gimmicks,
But where's your bite,
The cerebral edge, there's no
Dialectic.

What to do?
The poet wonders. Strip
The Muse, put her on a Suzuki,
Make her sputter Hegelian quirks
Like all the rest?
Or shall I whistle Lillibullero
And gae to my Anna?

Disquisition on Matters of Principle

Later
He got his own back,
Obliquely, in some of his verse:
A mistake his friends, at one
With his critics, condemned.
Although, on further reflection,
A number (of both parties) agreed that
From a mere poetological viewpoint
It didn't, perhaps, matter, in principle,
Whether
But rather
And that
If

Drab Prospect

These voices, proceeding - whence else? - from the poet's marasm,
Keep up their susurrus, annoying the Muses
With their dissensions and fuss, obscuring Apollo
With interminable logodaedal mist.

Parting

Congedo. A last look and clasping of hands.
Many then are the ways to darkness: on foot,
On horseback, by chariot, carriage, or boat.
With music sometimes, sometimes a quiet cortege,
Lasa, the winged, as guide or the bearded god,
Hammer in hand. Short, we think, were your days,
A lease claimed from anguish. Now you go
Unto other soil, no longer teaching any man
To bear his allotted part.