My Grief And My Smile Begin In

I Write Poetry Because I Can’t Disobey The Impulse; It Would Be Like Blocking A Spring That Surges Up In My Throat. For A Long Time I’ve Been The Servant Of The Song That Comes, That Appears And Can’t Be Buried Away. How To Seal Myself Up Now?…it No Longer Matters To Me Who Receives What I Submit. What I Carry Out Is, In That Respect, Greater And Deeper Than I, I Am Merely The Channel.

I Have All That I Lost And I Go Carrying My Childhood Like A Favorite Flower That Perfumes My Hand.

What The Soul Is To The Body, So Is The Artist To His People.

You Shall Create Beauty Not To Excite The Senses But To Give Sustenance To The Soul.

My Grief And My Smile Begin In Your Face, My Son.