A stab (as it were) at "Monument"

[Peter Scotto]

I've raised a monument to myself not-made-by-hands
The path the people take to it will not be overgrown
And it will raise its unbowed head up
Higher than the Alexander post.

Not all of  me will die - my soul in sacred lyre
Will far outlive my dust and never know decay -
And I shall be renowned as long as in the world here
Yet one last poet lives.

And word of me will cross the length and breadth of Russia
And every tongue and tribe will call me by my name
Proud grandson of the Slavs, the Finn, the wild
Tungus, and Kalmyk riding on his steppe.

And long then will I be beloved by the people
That kindly feelings my lyre once aroused
That in my brutal age I sang the praise of freedom
And called for mercy for those cast down.

To God's command, o Muse, be thou ever faithful
Not fearing insult, nor seeking for a crown
Accept both praise and slander with soul in even balance
And never argue with a fool.

(Suggestions, comments, appreciated) pscotto at mtholyoke.edu


Peter Scotto
Mount Holyoke College

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