JM Coetzee on Zbigniew Herbert

generals of the most recent wars

if a similar affair happens to them

whine on their knees before posterity

praise their heroism and innocence

they accuse their subordinates

envious colleagues

unfavourable winds

Thucydides says only

that he had seven ships

it was winter

and he sailed quickly

    It did not take any great character
    our refusal dissent and persistence
    we had a scrap of necessary courage
    but essentially it was a matter of taste
    Yes taste
    which has fibers of soul and the gristle of conscience

    Who knows if we’d been better more prettily tempted
    sent women pink and flat as wafers
    or fantastic creatures out of Hieronymous Bosch
    but what did hell look like in those days
    a mud pit a cutthroat’s alley a barracks
    called a Palace of Justice
    a moonshine Mephisto in a Lenin jacket
    sent Aurora’s grandchildren into the field
    boys with potato-eaters’ faces
    very ugly girls with red hands

    Truly their rhetoric was weaved of used sackcloth
    (Marcus Tullius turned in his grave)
    chains of tautologies a few ailing concepts
    torturers’ dialectics reasoning without grace
    syntax devoid of the beauty of the subjunctive

    So in fact aesthetics can be an aid in life
    one shouldn’t neglect the study of beauty
    Before we assent we must examine closely
    architectural forms rhythms of drum and flutes
    oficial colors the homely rituals of burial

    Our eyes and ears refused to submit
    our princely senses chose proud exile
    It did not take any great character

    we had a scrap of necessary courage
    but in essence it was a matter of taste
    Yes taste
    which tells you to walk out wince spit out your scorn
    even if for that your body’s precious capital the head
    would roll