The Secret of Poetry.
First two lines have always struck
me as funny within this poem.
They remind me of something I read
somewhere which is incredibly typical of myself
because I suffer from insomnia.
When I think I can't sleep, when I sleep.
When I can't sleep, I think.
Catch-22.
The Secret of Poetry.
When I was lonely, I thought of death.
When I thought of death, I was lonely.
I suppose this era will continue.
I shall enter each gray morning delighted by frost
which is death and the trees that stand alone and mist.
When I met my wife, I was lonely.
Our child in her body is lonely.
I suppose this era will go on and on.
Mornings, I kiss my wife's cold lips.
Nights, her body dripping with mist.
This is the era that fascinates.
I suppose you are secretly lonely, thinking of death,
thinking of love.
I'd like please to leave in your cell
just one cold flower whose beauty would
leave you inconsolable all day.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.