A panegyric

Ryman

Almost apologizing, he looks down
on a harsh world of folly shedding blood
as if it were his fault, as if he should
have found some better way, written it down

so words could heal. He tells us what we need.
Sometimes we listen. He portrays the links
of sex and death, language and crime. He thinks
bad metaphor can incite angry deed

and he’ll go carefully. His conscience writes
these moral fictions. Women and gay men
breathe, fuck, make art. Are born and die again
And life is as it is. Full of delights

and misery. He makes art that consoles
instructs, amuses, stitches tattered souls.

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About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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3 Responses to A panegyric

  1. rozkaveney says:

    It’s for the Readercon programme booklet. I had forgotten all about it and then they chased me and I got back to them half an hour later.

  2. deliasherman says:

    And very true it is, too. Also, I’m supposed to write something, too, and I totally forgot.

  3. desperance says:

    Roz, thank you for this. It’s like thirty years and six foot seven, all in fourteen lines.

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