Thursday, September 25, 2008

Poetry, Then

Poetry, then, is not an answer
But only a process
A drawing down into the self

During hypnosis I drift my
Conscious mind down, down
To the silt-silked bottom
Of a tranquil lake

Having myself lie, still and serene
With the great calm weight of the
Water pressing full around me

Like poetry

I wear glasses now
With an intellectual look
That others admire

And every day I ask myself

Who am I?


(After reading an interview with
new Poet Laureate Charles Simic.)

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