January 1, 2026

351 and 352

For two millennia and twenty-six,

I give you a blind eye to use at need.

To pardon those who try to make transfixed

your gaze on things that benefit their greed.

I give you a deaf ear toward all fear,

to give you courage in the days ahead,

despite the voices that you’ll surely hear

which doom and gloom afford, and promise dread.

Take, too, a tasteless tongue, and senseless nose.

Let no palate-less plate be set for you.

Or, if it is, that no misfortune grows

by nourishment for what you deign to do.

Let this year be for being, not been-done-ing.

Make sure that it’s your own ship you are running.

~~~

O! all the songs that ever have been hummed!

and ne’er recorded, noted, or e’en heard!

What marvels, sung in private, have been strummed

whom tablatures and clef chords know no word!

For more than masterpieces have been sung

in fields where ne’er a gramophone has been.

Such farmers have, with lips, and thought, and tongue,

made just as good as has a Beethoven.

What songs will ne’er be known. So it must be.

Perhaps this very thing is Phoebus’ choice—

the best of audiences is ear-free

for songs that only solitude can voice.

But, if we are quite lucky, you and I

shall hear records of these made in the sky.