Prometheus Unbound
I could swear, on oath, I’ve never read this play,
ignorance my alibi, though I’d plead guilty
to all the dazzled hours spent with Adonais, even quote
whole stanzas (that ‘white radiance of eternity’)
from this Oxford Standard Authors heavyweight.
Shelved, Shelley stands tallest (so, un-Standard, then?)
towering a good inch over Wordsworth. Both are blue,
with the same tiredness along the spine,
stiffened with lack of interest. Untouched, unopened since.
Just one more casualty on the tracks of time.
But look! A fine black ball-point’s underscored
the fiery argument. My student hand
has shrunk to footnotes—shamed
in pedantry and this precise absurdity—
all Shelley’s raging against tyranny.
What did I dare to think I knew, back then,
in that summer of love, when Sgt Pepper
spun on every turntable, when Paris
tore its streets up, when the news
crackled through shared transistor radios?
D A Prince
This poem will be included in D.A. Prince's new collection, The Bigger Picture, due to be published in November
The book is published by Happenstance Press. Click here for details.
