And the Time Is: Poems, 1958-2013

Choose

280 Choose You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough. —William Blake, “Proverbs of Hell” When Romans feasted, they opted to vomit and then return to feast afresh on emptied stomachs. To us that’s gluttony. To Romans it was dining. Erotic frescoes near Pompeii at Caracalla and Herculaneum offer scenes of copulation after copulation. Morality aside, they illustrate how women and men can link at the loins while standing, seated, supine, prone or otherwise. We call this fornication. Romans called it recreation or relief. No less a sage than Aristotle recognized that man cannot live without pleasure. Romans apparently agreed. But midway between complete denial and complete indulgence, Aristotle counseled moderation. Morality again aside, he settled on the mean to balance not enough with overmuch. Not everyone complies. 281 Denying every appetite, all puritans and stoics cope with bodily revolts until they die. Voluptuaries learn that endless pleasure molders overnight from boredom into pain. In search of equilibrium, we place our faith in faith, revealed or unrevealed. With Revelation come and gone, we act as if it never came. Out-moderating moderation is our last escape. We close our minds to mindless wars, the poisoning of water and the air, a flagging currency and vaudevillian politics. Only the rare immoderates who say enough’s enough define the final options—ridicule or blame. For better or worse it’s one or the other, regardless. Speak up, and be disdained. Shut up, and be ashamed. ...