I Feel That Poetry Is Going On

Somewhere Someone Is Traveling Furiously Toward You, At Incredible Speed, Traveling Day And Night.

Imagine A Painter Crucified By His Subject!

You Stupefied Me. We Waxed, Carnivores, Late And Alight In The Beaded Winter. All Was Ominous, Luminous.

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.

Until, Accustomed To Disappointments, You Can Let Yourself Rule And Be Ruled By These Strings Or Emanations That Connect Everything Together, You Haven't Fully Exorcised The Demon Of Doubt That Sets You In Motion Like A Rocking Horse That Cannot Stop Rocking.