established in the sestet, and somehow maintains the intensity of its indignation through the weaker octet--because the political emotion is genuine.How pertinent those lines about the rulers "who neither feel, nor see, nor know" are to England, 2009, with its bankers unqualified to bank and its cabinet ministers unqualified, it so often seems, to (ad)minister. Where are today's Shelleys? Why can't political poetry be as good as any other? Distrust anyone who says the postmodern muse should be above such things.
England in 1819
An old, mad, blind, despis'd, and dying king,
from Carol Rumens: The Guardian: Books blog: Poem of the week
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