Only Truthful Hands Write True Poems. I

A Poem, As A Manifestation Of Language And Thus Essentially Dialogue, Can Be A Message In A Bottle, Sent Out In The –not Always Greatly Hopeful-belief That Somewhere And Sometime It Could Wash Up On Land, On Heartland Perhaps. Poems In This Sense Too Are Under Way: They Are Making Toward Something. Toward What? Toward Something Standing Open, Occupiable, Perhaps Toward An Addressable Thou, Toward An Addressable Reality.

Don't Sign Your Name Between Worlds, Surmount The Manifold Of Meanings, Trust The Tearstain, Learn To Live.

They've Healed Me To Pieces.

There's Nothing In The World For Which A Poet Will Give Up Writing, Not Even He Is A Jew And The Language Of His Poems Is German.

In The Air, There Your Root Remains, There, In The Air