One test of a good poem is that it is as current as the latest fad or frenzy and yet could be understood as wonderful and ‘current’ in 100 or 500 years.
“King Oedipus may have had an eye too many, said Hölderlin and kept climbing. Above the tree line is as blank as the inside of a wrist. Rock stays. Names stay. Names fell on him, hissing.”
Anne Carson | “Short Talk on Hölderlin’s World Night Wound”