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Reflection on “Epistle the Second”

June 2023
ORIGINAL TEXT

Either your art hides art, as stoics feign
Then least to feel, when most they
suffer pain;
And we, dull souls, admire, but cannot see
What hidden springs within the engine be:

Sure that’s not all; this is a piece too fair
To be the child of chance, and not of care.
No atoms, casually together hurled,
Could e’er produce so beautiful a world;

MODERN TEXT

Maybe your poetry hides its best
poetic language,
in the same way that a stoic person
hides his emotions when he feels bad.
Or maybe we are not smart enough—
and your creativity is like a hidden spring.

Even more than that, surely your poetry
is too good to be random chance—really!
Small thoughts never produce beauty when
they are casually hurled at the reader.