If I thought while writing a poem like I am obliged to think (however feebly it might be) while writing an article, that poem would at least have a conclusion. Between its parts there would be connections subjected to the ordinary rules of logic. You would sense, however obscure it might be, my desire to tell someone something. Although it would be little more than: “This is proof that even uninspired I can compose a poem. I know beauty better than anyone.” I very much admire this kind of mastery, but I admire it with indifference. It is far from being my strength. And I appreciate the ideas of someone who is able to do such exercises much more than the exercises themselves.
The poet is, in a difficult and often perilous position, at the intersection of two planes with brutally sharp edges, the one of dream and the other of reality.
Imprisoned by appearances, in place in the world, although purely imaginary, in which the common lot is content, he overcomes all obstacles in order to attain the absolute and the real; there his spirit moves with ease. You must follow him there for, what is, is not this obscure, shy and despised body that you distractedly bump into on the sidewalk–that one will pass like the rest–but those poems, beyond the form of the book, those crystals left behind after the effervescent contact of the spirit with reality.
And the profound reality, the real, is what the spirit alone is able to grasp, to detach, to shape, all that comprises, in everything, matter, obeys its solicitation, accepts its domination, avoids, eludes the deceptive empire of the senses. Where the senses are, sovereign reality fades and disappears. Naturalism is an example of this submission to the sensible universe.
The result should be skipped over. For it is not a question of making something true; in art today’s truth is tomorrow’s falsity. That is why poets have never been concerned with the truth, but always with the real. Beware however, for everyone employs words, your task is to create with words what no one else does.