I think this poem by Bruce Andrews would be a lot easier for most contemporary readers than the "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty." Hell, I don't even like this poem, because it's too easy, too self-evident in its devices. Sure, when I serenaded some construction workers this afternoon with it, they weren't too appreciative. Ouch, the brick in my back still hurts. Why could that be? Maybe you need a teeny bit of context to understand what this kind of writing is trying to do. Context that a critic might provide, that being the critic's job. But when the critic presumes to speak for the uncomprehending reader instead of doing her job, then we are right to call her on it.