The Poet Does Not Know - Often

Mass Communication, Radio, And Especially Television, Have Attempted, Not Without Success, To Annihilate Every Possibility Of Solitude And Reflection.

Happiness, For You We Walk On A Knife Edge. To The Eyes You Are A Flickering Light, To The Feet, Thin Ice That Cracks; And So May No One Touch You Who Loves You.

However, Poetry Does Not Live Solely In Books Or In School Anthologies.

Against The Dark Background Of This Contemporary Civilization Of Well-being, Even The Arts Tend To Mingle, To Lose Their Identity.

For My Part, If I Consider Poetry As An Object, I Maintain That It Is Born Of The Necessity Of Adding A Vocal Sound (speech) To The Hammering Of The First Tribal Music.