The Intellectuals

By: William Pillin

Intellectuals Group by Giancarlo Vitali

I

Lord, I’m fed up with the busy spiders
and their tenuous spit of thought, 
who, lacking the stuff for a quarto,
lose tenure and lecture appointments. 

They fatten their purses
by spreading confusion
among wide-eyed gudgeons.
They see nothing

but their own grimacing faces
in a delirium of mirrors. 
most of all I suspect
the rare sincere ones: 

the pale moon-masters
with eyes like well-lights.
What on earth are they saying?
Their whispers faint in the distance.

II

Listen, my beloved son:
I worked all my life like a dray-horse.
This house and a measure of savings
will cushion your future;

but if ever I see you moon-struck
with a notion to write a paper
on Whither This? or The Future of Something, 
so help me, I will leave my possessions

to a Society of Simplified Spelling
or some such fuddle. Dear offspring, 
take up wine, venery, gaming—
not theorists, not dialecticians!

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Thanks to a reader, I just came across the poetry of William Pillin. Unfortunately, most of his works are out of print. But he’s an amazing poet who deserves a wider readership. I did find a used edition of his collected works at Abebooks.

William Pillin (1910–1985) was an American poet known for his lyrical and often introspective verse. Born in Odessa, Ukraine, Pillin immigrated to the United States with his family as a child, settling in Cleveland, Ohio.

Pillin's poetry was characterized by its emotional depth, simplicity, and exploration of themes such as memory, identity, and the passage of time. His work was published in various literary journals and magazines, and he gained recognition in the mid-20th century for his distinctive voice.

Though little known today, William Pillin was respected among his contemporaries for his contributions to American poetry. His work remains appreciated by those who study mid-20th century American verse, particularly for its emotional honesty and lyrical beauty.