A poem is not so much what is said
but the unsaid expressed in what is said.
Not that what is said expresses the unsaid,
but the said is the silence to the unsaid.
Now every poem does this anyway,
though its author may think it is concealed:
one comes over as the context to one’s words,
one’s own motives and character revealed.
Comprehension reveals a vanity
to so presume, a dogmatic attitude;
a poet’s no maker of laws, but hints
at what governs in a moment’s interlude.
Not what is said, therefore, but words unsaid
expand the poem into a world of truth –
abstract from the poet’s own motives read,
fulfilling them in telling things unsaid.
