I am not a good enough painter sculptor poet musician
I am not Pygmalion nor even Yeats
A true work of art projects a non-ontological entity
Or more simply a joy forever

Achievement does not come from instrumental reason
But if at all from negative capability
Or more simply doing without doing
And personal desires just interfere

But without personal desire
How would one make the attempt
The frustrating paradox
Human all too human

And worse
The tired antinomy of form and content
And worse still
The stubborn facticity of materials

And the rules the rules
Without which nothing
The rhythms of Ronsard
The rigors of terza rima

Who trip thou ask’st in these bad days my mind
I much
Chevalier of self-defeat
Engineer of incapacity

We have a word remorse
Backbite for the evil we have done
What then is the word
For the good we’ll never do