I read the most beautiful essay by Jane Hirshfield last night, in her book Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry. I wish I could repost the entire thing here, but the quote is a link to at least a bit more.
Every good poem begins in language awake to its own connections—language that hears itself and what is around it, sees itself and what is around it, looks back at those who look into its gaze and knows more perhaps even than we do about who are, what we are. It begins, that is, in the mind and body of concentration.
I’ve been known to forget what poetry is about sometimes. I recently lived a whole year with out poetry. I had come to the darkest opinion of poetry. ( So much ego and ambiguous noise!) In my more inspired times I have thought poetry to be the closest…
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