Think of the most beautiful word you know
but do not speak it. Not yet. Only, hold it
in your mind a little while longer, hold it
until it becomes redolent, until it becomes
profuse with idolatries.
Writer and Artist
Think of the most beautiful word you know
but do not speak it. Not yet. Only, hold it
in your mind a little while longer, hold it
until it becomes redolent, until it becomes
profuse with idolatries.
Imagining the origin of words
one usually pictures two tribesmen,
friends, standing around a fire.
The first one points to a stone
and sort of grunts. The second
furrows his australoid brow and
repeats the sound. From then on
when either needs a stone he
simply points and goes ongh.
But what need is there for words
between friends? If the two had
the pleasure of each’s company
enough to know and utter poetry
what’s the point of words at all
when just the pointing would do?
What else is a friend but him who
knows my meaning without my
having to say anything at all?