(Is fair work rewarded often?
Du Fu was a great Chinese poet who lived from 712 to 770 AD. He was doomed to a sad and deprived life as he failed in his many attempts to qualify the official civil service examination, which had poetry as a compulsory subject. Many lesser men of his time were capped and celebrated but Du Fu remained unacknowledged and consigned to penury.
Do not for even a moment think I am alluding I am someone like Du Fu, or someone even close to the dust of his footprints, in my poem below. It is just that I have this bad taste in my mouth when fair work goes unnoticed while pedestrian catchpennies become the toast of the Internet.)
Feed me a bowl of maggots,
I’ll roll in nameless mire
And wait for the vultures to descend
With pincers soaked in fire.
The fox will sip a thousand lips
And a lonely flute is sour;
Theirs is a vintage vineyard,
Mine a leafless flower.
The fibs that flow on aromal reek
Supped on rancid carrion;
That which rinsed the eyes
Was a tongue hooked to talons.