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Letter from the Editors
Dear Readers,
Our thanks to Bob Hicok for today's Poet's Pick!
This year, a special celebration for our 20th Anniversary Fund Drive during National Poetry Month: every day in April we present a Poets’ Picks feature from years gone by. Please help us to continue our service to you and to poetry by making a tax-deductible contribution to Poetry Daily! Click here to find out how you can contribute online or by mailing a check or money order.
Thank you so much for your support! Enjoy today's special poem and commentary from 2002!
Warmest regards,
Don Selby & Diane Boller
Editors
"Though I Thy Mithridates Were"
by James Joyce (1882-1941)
Though I thy Mithridates were,
Framed to defy the poison-dart,
Yet must thou fold me unaware
To know the rapture of thy heart,
And I but render and confess
The malice of thy tenderness.
For elegant and antique phrase,
Dearest, my lips wax all too wise;
Nor have I known a love whose praise
Our piping poets solemnize,
Neither a love where may not be
Ever so little falsity.Â
Bob Hicok Comments:
There aren't enough poison darts in contemporary poetry. Also names like Mithridates are in short supply. I fell in love with the title of this poem. It's a good thing to say to the various folks who come to your door selling God or magazines. The sound of this poem, more than allusions to a Persian king, makes me hunt up my Norton a couple times each year and reread it. It seems more like eating than reading, a poem to be tasted, a diversion for the tongue. The other virtue of this poem is, after reading it you can honestly say, yes, I've read Joyce.
Bob Hicok:
Bob Hicok's most recent book is Sex & Love & (Copper Canyon, 2016). Hold will be published by Copper Canyon in 2018.
Don't forget! If you enjoy our regular features and special events like this one, please join Bob Hicok in supporting Poetry Daily by making a tax-deductible contribution.
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