(New poems to be developed this year...consult old poems and build on the base of what has already been built.)
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Poetry emerges out of love, out of death, out of wonder of space, out of devotions and mysteries, out of power and justice. Many things emerge out of these intangibles but by the time the group gets them they are already headed for the tar pits.
Poetry is Adam and for a fleeting moment thinks all is paradise; knows paradise like the curve of his clean face. And then life gets a bit hellish and soon enough he's driven out and filled with lamentations the rest of his days. Yet Adam implies Christ.
Perhaps the Adam of poetry remembers that many lives have been lived before paradise. That, in fact, he exists in a succession of paradises, his being the latest model. Perhaps that's why he eats of the tree of knowledge.
Where does the poet go when everything else is recorded?
The instruments of recording and the outcomes of the recording are part of the environment. He's a skeptical son of a bitch.
I don't know what a poem is actually. I know it's changed over time because the culture changes. Things come into being that make old poems obsolete but create new poems out of new imperatives. Who is to say? You must live and try to do the best you are capable of. What poems and poets do you still go to?
Poetry teaches this at least: Look back only to grab the nugget, never to please the self. The present and future must be better than the past.
Liberal democratic values may be an ideal easily absconded by the ferocious will to power among corrupt types, yet it must live in some fashion; it must be enacted
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