“I do not go in search of poetry. I wait for poetry to visit me.”
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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.
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.
Narrative art, the novel, from Murasaki to Proust, has produced great works of poetry.
However, poetry does not live solely in books or in school anthologies.
