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Difficult to write
about them without
making them seem
interesting - and there is
a certain interest.

They are the old
violent gods.

The quarrel of Troy
was a quarrel among the gods.

They are
what God isn't.

And above all
(don't be fooled)
they are not us.

The tragedians understood
(the real ones, not
Shakespeare. Shakespeare thought
they were us. Tragedy is really
impossible without
the gods). However
friendly they may be, however
sincere their love,
they are not our friends.

Alas for all that beauty.

The greatest of them all became
incarnate with a view
to raping us.

You who would like to have been
a wild old wicked man,
dancing with the boys
in the mountains -

the gods will claim you for their own and you will dance
up there (down there) for ever
and ever and ever and ever.

Next poem - Reflection suggested by Gustav Courbet's painting The Happy Lovers