Sine die

A page from the manuscript of Alfred Nobel's play Nemesis

Never play cards with a man called Doc. Never eat at a place called Mom’s.—Nelson Algren, A Walk on the Wild Side

Poets, I think, are more interesting than politicians

and far less biased. More interesting than economists, too

(though an economist may be a poet as well—Keynes was, I think),

Poets keep their options open, if they’re any good.

The solution to the world’s problems might well be a government of them!

They spring up from the most unlikely roots:

Alfred Nobel invented dynamite,

gelignite, and ballistite, grew rich selling Bofors guns, and naval mines.

He'd rather have been a poet, though, and shortly before dying, went to Italy

and wrote a four-act tragedy based on the story of Beatrice Cenci,

sixteenth-century executed murderer of the count, her rapist father.

Filled with remorse, and not wishing to be remembered as a merchant of death,

Nobel bequeathed the world his contentious set of prizes.

It’s said that these cause more trouble than they’re worth, but who knows.

Since the rules for poets are tabled, sine die.*

There’s telling who might be one.

Maybe even you and me.

*I.e., indefinitely.

Tuesday, July 8, 2025