When someone goes into self-righteous mode
a hot, terrible fury rises like a raging whirlwind
in me so I have to block the voice of the self-
styled paragon - when esteemed colleagues
Discuss their work in self-satisfied tones, their
language classes in gloating terms, doctorates
to come in rising pedagogical directives - axe
murder is my first predilection; even though
They are miracles of Calvinist ethics & attempts
to uplift us are admirable; small grandiloquence
is lost on me, my brain is a slow leaden wagon
and must contemplate every fact for a long time
It's not attractive when they show off excellence
& we can't emulate them, boasting rodomontade
and swaggering gasconade are useless here and
I have to drown them out with music to keep the
Dream of beauty alive since there is no beauty in
condescending education & eloquent braggadocio
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem