|
Out of the darkness, I have noticed, comes
forth great complexity; in poetry,
blind gropings ramify theatrically
into an ornate edifice that hums
with emptiness that sounds like beating drums
to blinkered eyes, which see the artistry
that shuts out light, creating casuistry
as fine as can be, needs be, one that sums
the whole tradition. Is it any wonder
that poetry has lost its way and bearing,
that form has dwindled? - It was always so,
disguised by changing surfaces that under-
pinned substitute meaning; it is as though
the darkness said it all in light's full hearing. |
