(Painting by Artur Bual)
Commissioned, she composes an anthem
for her native islands in the mid-Atlantic to
be recorded, deployed, wafted about, and
taken seriously by librarians of every stripe.
If her poem is not up to snuff, it nevertheless
hardly tarnishes a reputation, which, though
not established forever, continues to storm
right along. Natalia is Natalia, and as Auden
said of his better, Yeats, just then defunct,
this poet, too, will be forgiven for writing well.
Nov. 5, 1980