casandra

the mad girl with the staring eyes and long white fingers
hooked in the stones of the wall,
the storm-wrack hair and the screeching mouth: does it matter, cassandra,
wheter the people believe
your bitter fountain? truly men hate the truth; they'd liefer
meet a tiger on the road.
therefore the poets honey their truth with lying; but religion-venders and political men
pour from the barrel, new lies on the old, and are praised for kindly
wisdom. poor bitch, be wise.
no: you"ll still numble in a corner a crust of truth, to men
and gods disgusting. -- you and i, cassandra.

robinson jeffers (1887-1962), de "the double axe and other poems", 1948