Ardor for Athena
Woe unto the man with ardor for Athena,
for wisdom he can recognize, but never know --
impenetrable depths where he can never go.
What drops are these upon his thigh? What patina:
blood or sweat? Who turns his head? For what arena?
For beauty he can recognize, but never know --
impenetrable depths where he can never go,
woe unto the man with ardor for Athena.
A palace arch she can't unlock or let be stormed:
Such austere wisdom! Such defense! But she appears
to trap herself. He glances back, but does not stand.
He does not speak. His battered hands have been deformed
by wailing at her walls; his cauliflower ears,
from hearing what he never will quite understand.
Daniel Kemper is an unaccomplished man. He has walked The Bridge of No Return across the Sachong, and returned. He’s carried an acolyte’s cross at dawn and heard poetry at The Gates of Hell at midnight (Rodin Gardens). He’s touched the bones of Dinkenesh (“Lucy”) and climbed Masada at Dawn. He’s been How Berkeley Can You Be and walked the Pamlico Sound barefoot. He’s brought two children into the world and taken his father out of it. He’s written when there was no one he could tell and he writes now bring out things of value and to engage and embrace all those who are doing the same..
The Ekphrastic Review
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