Achill Head - Paul Henry
Below is a piece taken from a blog I read, it is about a journalist's interview with an American poet. I hope she won’t mind me repeating it here but I thought others might like the last line.
This is the extract.
I can't tell you what we talked about; I need to save that for my story. But I will share his last quote, since it was so lovely. I said, Why poetry? Why not prose? And he answered immediately; he said,
Why dancing? Why not just walk around?
Then quite by chance I received this poem in an email tonight, also on the theme of poetry. So I thought I would share this with you also. Pablo Neruda is a favourite poet of mine.
And it was at that age... Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don't know, I don't know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were not words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others, among violent fires or returning alone,
there I was without a face and it touched me.
I did not know what to say,
my mouth had no way with names
my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering that fire
and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance,
pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open,
planets, palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.
And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void,
likeness, image of mystery,
I felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.
That's all for now,