a poem is the manifestation of a poet’s silence.

words use the poet, not vice versa. for the poet is the sounding chamber of the poem, where the unheard poem never ceases to echo

true saying is only found by listening, by giving up one’s right to speak. such silence is rare, but never is it mute.

words are only as empty as the poet. the poem only ever as effective as the poet’s impotence.

vast, open, we all resound.

even milosz’s bullet sings.*

*┬áThe Polish poet Czeslaw Milosz told the story of how he was once caught in a crossfire. He ran for his life, but fell in the middle of the street. As bullets whizzed past, he remained lying face down fearing for his life. Suddenly a bullet smashed a cobblestone beside his head and he thought to himself, “Poetry cannot stop bullets.”