Each Servant Stamps The Reader With A

How Many People Came And Stayed A Certain Time, Uttered Light Or Dark Speech That Became Part Of You Like Light Behind Windblown Fog And Sand Filtered And Influenced By It, Until No Part Remains That Is Surely You.

Reading Is A Pleasure, But To Finish Reading, To Come To The Blank Space At The End, Is Also A Pleasure.

One Listens To A Piece Of Great Music, Say, And Feels Deeply Moved By It, And Wants To Put This Feeling Into Words, But It Can't Be Put Into Words. That's What - The Music Has Already Supplied The Meaning, And Words Will Just Be Superfluous After That. But It's That Kind Of Verbal Meaning That Can't Be Verbalized That I Try To Get At In Poetry.

I Want A Bedroom Near The Sky, An Astrologer's Cave Where I Can Fashion Eclogues That Are Chaste And Grave.

I Feel That Poetry Is Going On All The Time Inside, An Underground Stream.