18 Thinking about the Moderns

I've repeatedly been struck by how much the contemporary world of arts owes to the Moderns.  Obviously we have more technology than they had, but their own technology thoroughly astonished (and appalled) them in their own time.  We can hardly innovate more than they did, and in most cases we continue their experiments (if with more powerful and expensive tools).  So here's a little poem honoring the Moderns, moving desultorily--with a little influence from a very early Modern:  John Skelton.

Moderns Van Gogh came and wenta manly gentwith his heart bentto slow, failed sadly to gowith the flow. Gertrude Steinfelt just fineon whisky or wineor shared a cigarettewith her favorite petfrom the Parisian set. Duchamp was a chiefof each aperitifbut avoided all pomp, had a rompwith la Giocondain a gondola. T. S. proved a pestin his Anglican nest, found a fascist Poundon the rebounda tender editorand tenderer creditor. Wallace Stevens went farwith the image of jar, farther still to Key Westand a blackbirdian jestfrom Hemingway's nest. He, too, crossed the bar. Children of the Sunwanted just to have fun, made a run with religiontroubled over contrition, found a Woolf too awareof Modern despair. And so they all tumbledas Great War guns rumbledand finances stumbled, stubbing impressionson the Great Depression. It died on another bloody sigh. 

Not happy with that, but sometimes the point is just to try something.  Thanks, as always, for reading!