W.B. Yeats, “Leda And The Swan” -The Toast

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Look, I have a lot of other stuff on my mind, too, I just –
some nights I can’t sleep and yes, one of the thoughts
that enters my head is: What if God were a swan and you had to fuck him?
And I can’t apologize for that,
or won’t. Either, both.

Hand to God, I’ll get to the Irish Literary Revival later. I just.
Am I supposed to apologize for this? Because I won’t.
Do you think that, when they prayed – if they prayed –
the Greeks were picturing God as a fuck-swan? Or did he look human, then?
This is all poetry, this is all art.
The devil is God inverted. What is the opposite of a God-swan fucking:
a god-swan not fucking? or an ungodded swan getting fucked?

I can’t not think about it. They teach you this in school. School!
Do you think she liked it? Where would it even…man.
I don’t know. I don’t know.
I wouldn’t like it, for what it’s worth. No matter how much God it was.
I don’t think that I could fuck a swan. It’s the Irish in me.
(Don’t tell me you never think about it! Fuck you, you do.)
How do you explain the Trojan War to your kids, if you had to?
“Some lady fucked a swan and that’s why your father’s dead”? Because
that’s the gist of it. And that’s really upsetting.

I think it’s important to think about it. It’s probably
the biggest question of the twentieth century. Or at least
Camille Paglia is going to think so. What if you fucked a swan.
Can’t be scared to ask the big questions.
I just don’t think I would have liked it, is all.
I don’t think I could have fucked a swan. Anyhow.

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