Well, I'll read a--
this is-- I'll read another poem by somebody else.
If you can guess who this poet is, I don't know what.
You can feel good.
This is a similar sort of poem.
It's by-- it's by an old guy.
It's called "Recitative."
If the muscle can feel repugnance,
there is still a false move to be made.
If the mind can imagine tomorrow,
there is still a defeat to remember.
As long as the self can say I, it is impossible not to rebel.
As long as there is an accidental virtue,
there is a necessary vice.
And the garden cannot exist.
The miracle cannot occur.
For the garden is the only place there is,
but you will not find it until you
have looked for it everywhere and found
nowhere that is not a desert.
The miracle is the only thing that happens,
but to you it will not be apparent until all events have
been studied and nothing happens that you cannot explain.
And life is the destiny you are bound
to refuse until you have consented to die.
Therefore, see without looking.
Hear without listening.
Breathe without asking.
The inevitable is what will seem to happen
to you purely by chance.
The real is what will strike you as really absurd.
Unless you are certain you are dreaming,
it is certainly a dream of your own.
Unless you exclaim there must be some mistake,
you must be mistaken.
Auden.
I think that the Budweiser people really stole the "why ask
why" campaign from this poem.
It's not a link that I can prove,
but he does a nice job with it.
They cooked it down effectively I think.