Friday, April 15, 2011

At the Straussian Picnic

Does one don white gloves and boater
A mask, a whip
A boa floater?
What, I wonder, does one wear
When invited to appear
Among the denizens of Athens
(Well, Athens as they’d like to see it,
Chicagified and monotheist)?

They’re chowing down on Hebrew Nationals
Someone asks: Is Bellow rational?
Should Pericles have lowered taxes?
Was Hobbes the Father of the Axis?
(Will Nietzsche please get off our backses?)
Did Montesquieu invent our Nation?
Can Hegel save his reputation?

Is man-boy love the wrong persuasion?

Oh, thanatos and thanatopsie
Will I break bread with Seth Cropsey?
Will Baumann and McClay be there?
Will Francis Fukuyama share
His thoughts about Robespierre?
Will I learn at last to grasp
The meaning of Pythagoras?
Will I understand the Good
And tease out just where Plato stood
On sophistry and eidoshood?

Mais non, helas
I’ve not been asked.
Nor will I be.
It’s purdah-land you see for me.
Pariahville’s my destiny.
I guess I’ll never get to Know
What I don’t Know.
Ah, well, to hell,
No, to Hellas,
With that bloody show. 

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