Thinking
First, I need to try a shallow approach to poetry as a center of subjective expression, existential. And when I say I mean existential poetic expression of the human fleshiness at the center of intimacy that the text touches on deponent to become enriched, but inconclusive. Because the lyric is launched on an adventure to capture what can not cover, which remains silent in the plane of the ineffable. On this essential irresolution Maurice Blanchot has written: The search for whole in all its forms is the ultimate poetic claim, a claim on which it is included, as its condition, the impossibility of compliance. (1) In this sense one can say that every poem is a failure. And it builds on its inner fracture, which is nourished by what it hides or said to be quiet, sensitive substance that folds on itself to be a mystery.
But in this lucid, visionary flash that is emerging that we have unfinished matters that perhaps reveals a hint of eternity. And in the impossibility of fulfillment lies its beauty, a beauty that touches the edge of his own agony, and ecstasy. That thirst for wholeness of the human self is moved to the writing, which explores alternative areas within the parameters imposed by the language, rebels against its own limits and seeks to be revelation of the secret, perhaps the secret pre-existing Word of the founding. Create, within your own voice, a diffuse geography, an echo of flight parallel to the world.