Every poem is a scene of language. It is a rite without a ceremony.
And that disturbing loss of equilibrium, that radical redefinition of time, that entry into an atemporal present, is one of the key features of lyric poetry.
I felt a deep affection for
the smallest of my island industries.
No, not exactly, since the smallest was
a miserable philosophy.
And if sun comes
How shall we greet him?
Shall we not dread him,
Shall we not fear him
After so lengthy a
Session with shade?
I really love you,
believe me. It is something I inherited
from my mother.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
Rhythm is a form cut into time, as Ezra Pound said […] Rhythm is all about recurrence and change. It is poetry’s way of charging the depths, hitting the fathomless. It is oceanic.