In The Garden I Will

In Each Thing There Is An Insinuation Of Death. Stillness, Silence, Serenity Are All Apprenticeships.

...i Am The Immense Shadow Of My Tears

I Was Lucky Enough To See With My Own Eyes The Recent Stock-market Crash, Where They Lost Several Million Dollars, A Rabble Of Dead Money That Went Sliding Off Into The Sea. Never As Then, Amid Suicides, Hysteria, And Groups Of Fainting People, Have I Felt The Sensation Of Real Death, Death Without Hope, Death That Is Nothing But Rottenness, For The Spectacle Was Terrifying But Devoid Of Greatness... I Felt Something Like A Divine Urge To Bombard That Whole Canyon Of Shadow, Where Ambulances Collected Suicides Whose Hands Were Full Of Rings.

The Artist, And Particularly The Poet, Is Always An Anarchist In The Best Sense Of The Word. He Must Heed Only The Call That Arises Within Him From Three Strong Voices: The Voice Of Death, With All Its Foreboding, The Voice Of Love And The Voice Of Art.

Today In My Heart A Vague Trembling Of Stars And All Roses Are As White As My Pain.