To Be Saved Is Here, Local And

The White Sun Like A Moth On A String Circles The Southpole.

Poetry Leads Us To The Unstructured Sources Of Our Beings, To The Unknown, And Returns Us To Our Rational, Structured Selves Refreshed. Having Once Experienced The Mystery, Plenitude, Contradiction, And Composure Of A Work Of Art, We Afterward Have A Built-in Resistance To The Slogans And Propaganda Of Oversimplification That Have Often Contributed To The Destruction Of Human Life. Poetry Is A Verbal Means To A Nonverbal Source. It Is A Motion To No-motion, To The Still Point Of Contemplation And Deep Realization.

Thats A Wonderful Change Thats Taken Place, And So Most Poetry Today Is Published, If Not Directly By The Person, Certainly By The Enterprise Of The Poet Himself, Working With His Friends.

With The First Step, The Number Of Shapes The Walk Might Take Is Infinite, But Then The Walk Begins To Define Itself As It Goes Along, Though Freedom Remains Total With Each Step: Any Tempting Side Road Can Be Turned Into An Impulse, Or Any Wild Patch Of Woods Can Be Explored. The Pattern Of The Walk Is To Come True, Is To Be Recognized, Discovered.

Things Go Away To Return, Brightened For The Passage