125th Street. Mina Loy's "Apology of Genius"

Folks,

Yeah, you guys should have seen this coming. If I'm not listening to Indie music, I'm reading poems. I don't have a lot of favorite poets, 'cause I don't read an extensive amount of poetry. Mina Loy is one of the poets I really like. Like most American poets I love, she's dead and buried, and, like most Great American poets, her poetry live on. Loy's poetry is exceptionally difficult, and I only got to appreciate her during one of my Literature classes.

This particular poem. "Apology of Genius" is an example of a pretty dense poem that simply CANNOT be understood in a single reading. I read it at least FIVE times before I could make out what she's saying.

This poem can be interpreted as Loy's apology of the artistic geniuses of the world. In simple terms, it's not a genius's fault that she is a genius. The genius is above everyone, 'cause he/she is able to see and understand things beyond common comprehension. Yet, society tries re-appropriate the genius, making him or her part of the society in which she is in. Loy's saying that is NOT possible. Even if it seems the genius has given up and has blended in, she will stand out like a luminous gem.

Hopefully, you guys enjoy the poem as much as I did.

Apology of Genius (1922)

Ostracized as we are with God

The watchers of the civilized wastes
reverse their signals on our track

Lepers of the moon
all magically diseased
we come among you
innocent
of our luminous sores

unknowing
how perturbing lights
our spirit
on the passion of Man
until you turn on us your smooth fools' faces
like buttocks bared in aboriginal mockeries

We are the sacerdotal clowns
who feed upon the wind and stars
and pulverous pastures of poverty

Our wills are formed
by curious disciplines
beyond your laws

You may give birth to us
or marry us
the chances of your flesh
are not our destiny ---

The cuirass of the soul
still shines ---
And we are unaware
if you confuse
such brief
corrosion with possession

In the raw caverns of the Increate
we forge the dusk of Chaos
to that imperious jewellery of the Universe

--- the Beautiful ---

While to your eyes

A delicate crop
of criminal mystic immortelles
stands to the censor's scythe.