Here's a take I work with/by: Poems aren't real. Why do I write? I write
because the real is the shape of (a) desire...that the poem be real and
myself a person in it. I do believe the things I believe to pretend that
there's something that should be or abide a poem whose reality isn't real.
Somehow this sees me through. And, in that sense, I think I can say I write
the same poem over and over again.
----- Original Message -----
From: "Douglas Clark" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, March 13, 2002 2:01 PM
Subject: Re: A beautiful mind
> I got to Henry's message re entering another world through
> the language in the poem which contains the reader.
> This suspension of belief in the extraneous seems to me
> to be at the centre of all art. I suppose it is what
> imagination is all about. I suppose this is a limitation
> of Derrida's view that nothing exists but the text because
> through it you can pass into a wonderful world.
> Wouldnt it be great if each of us in our lives could
> write just one such poem. But that would be asking a lot.
> Douglas Clark, Bath, England mailto: [log in to unmask]
> Lynx: Poetry from Bath ..........