Stranger said, knowing is a kind of acting,
And he said it in classical Greek, so “acting”
Was poieîn, as in also making, as in poetry.
Knowing is a kind of poetry, then, and not
The other way around. Of course, what was
True for Plato was never necessarily true
For everyone. Shi yan zhi. Poetry, expression
Of aspiration, of the will, was often intended
As “cloaked expression of secret will,” as in
All those Han-era and later poems echoing
Sorrowful Li Sao, always honest gentlemen,
In trouble with some fool ruler easily swayed
By vicious court climbers, flown off to exile.
Or not. I have to think some of those poets
Sighing into their flower-petalled calligraphy
About being exiled hermits were hypocrites.
I doubt that only honest, wise counselors
Were unwisely rejected or that only the same
Wrote fine poems on retiring to mountains
And rivers to drink wine in the moonlit quiet.
Anyway, one plausible etymology for poetry,
Shi, in Old Chinese has it something closer
To “rituals sung by the eunuchs,” recitative.
It’s a long road from shi to song swordsman
Li Bai. Well, so? Not every classical Greek
Poet made much of a maker and doer, either.
Poets everywhere, revolutionaries included,
Still sometimes sigh into their cups, rather
Than knowing, making, or aspiring much. Ah,
We try. Sometimes, we try. That should be
The proper, cosmic etymology of all poetry.
“Poetry,” from the human for trying, “We try.”
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