There are times when I--
I think poetry is the most important thing in the world.
And there times when I sometimes feel like poetry
is the most useless, foolish thing in the world.
And I guess if it is important, it's
important because it's an attempt
to make a commitment and resolution about what
your life is about.
And in a way, it's almost an act of magic,
or an act of religious faith, that you're
willing to embrace and talk about life.
Maybe the thing that's really the most valuable about poetry
is that it's completely useless in all practical terms.
Because things that are useful pass out of existence,
and something new is invented that is more useful.
And poetry, if it has no use, perhaps
can stay around just because we need it.
This first poem is called "The Magician."
You are warm.
The flowering stalk of the radish,
hot, not spicy, but sharp.
I touch with my teeth the root, that white ball.
Vegetables remind me I love you, your transformation.
The magician works in silence.
There is no music around him.
The only rhythm a pulse in the frightened rabbit's ear.
When he folds his silk and hangs up his suit,
he slips his baton into his elbow.
That naked magician walks up to my doorbell which doesn't ring.
I hear him.
The magic being now in my ears.
He leaves his eyes on my shoulders
and powdering my knees.