Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree:
There are classics and then there are classics. It seems, however, for every generation there is its own unique Romeo and Juliet. Punk was happening and headbands and sweatsuits and big hair was just around the corner when Dire Straits ran a counter, at least for a while, interesting path. It doesn't really get more RockLit than this; song above and video following.
This week's featured poem comes from Lilliput Review #28, February 1992. Enjoy.
Ars PoeticaForging a poem is
Like nothing so much as
Building a butterfly
Of bronze.Patricia Higginbotham
will I grow old
translated by David G. Lanoue
For 20 weeks of rock songs that are literature infused, see the home of "LitRock from Issa's Sunday Service."