“The
task of the artist at any time is uncompromisingly simple: To discover what has
not yet been done, and to do it.” – Craig Raine
Born on this date in 1944, Raine is
an English poet and past Fellow of New College, Oxford (from 1991 – 2010) where
he is now emeritus professor. These days
he keeps busy editing the literary magazine Areté, which he founded in
1999. Raine credits his writing and
love of literature to “a great teacher in my growing up years.” We should all be so fortunate to have such a mentor
set a life’s course that leads to great writing like his.
For
Saturday’s Poem, and as a tribute to all 
the plantlife that is about done for
the fall season as the winter months arrive, here is Raine’s,
Dead dandelions, bald as drumsticks,
swaying by the roadside
like Hare Krishna pilgrims
bowing to the Juggernaut.
They have given up everything.
Gold gone and their silver gone,
humbled with dust, hollow,
their milky bodies tan
to the colour of annas.
The wind changes their identity:
slender Giacomettis, Doré's convicts,
Rodin's burghers of Calais
with five bowed heads
and the weight of serrated keys . . .
They wither into mystery, waiting
to find out why they are,
patiently, before nirvana
when the rain comes down like vitriol.
swaying by the roadside
like Hare Krishna pilgrims
bowing to the Juggernaut.
They have given up everything.
Gold gone and their silver gone,
humbled with dust, hollow,
their milky bodies tan
to the colour of annas.
The wind changes their identity:
slender Giacomettis, Doré's convicts,
Rodin's burghers of Calais
with five bowed heads
and the weight of serrated keys . . .
They wither into mystery, waiting
to find out why they are,
patiently, before nirvana
when the rain comes down like vitriol.
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