Saturday, February 2, 2019 at 11:45AM
Drew Wolfe

Odysseus Elytis

But you must know that only he who fights the darkness within will the day after tomorrow have his own share in the sun.

You'll come to learn a great deal if you study the Insignificant in depth.

If a separate personal Paradise exists for each of us, mine must be irreparably planted with trees of words which the wind silvers like poplars, by people who see their confiscated justice given back, and by birds that even in the midst of truth of death insist on singing in Greek and saying eros, eros, eros.

Willing or not, we are all hostages of the joy of which we deprive ourselves. Here springs love’s pre-eternal sadness.

Poetry should express the apex, should constitute a kind of pioneering outpost in the unexplored area of life, should precede other arts in the depiction of sensitivity. It should be the word and sword intervening in the spirit, so that matter, docile, can follow. Creation, especially poetic, is above all a result.

In the final analysis, roses are nothing but tears. Nothing but the whistle of the leaving train and the breach of a promise. Sorrow, too, is nothing but an evening leaning on April.



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