We’ve been thinking a lot lately about tyranny: what it looks like, where it comes from, and how it roots itself in the culture and sprouts into a choking kudzu when too many people aren’t paying attention.
Here’s a poem by W.H. Auden, who lived from 1907 to 1973.
Epitaph on a Tyrant
Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
If you’d like to read some astute analysis on this poem, check out the Interesting Literature blog here.