It Is Through The Intentionality Of Poetic

Whoever Lives For Poetry Must Read Everything. How Often Has The Light Of A New Idea Sprung For Me From A Simple Brochure! When One Allows Himself To Be Animated By New Images, He Discovers Iridescence In The Images Of Old Books. Poetic Ages Unite In A Living Memory. The New Age Awakens The Old. The Old Age Comes To Live Again In The New. Poetry Is Never As Unified As When It Diversifies.

Cosmic Reveries Separate Us From Project Reveries. They Situate Us In A World And Not In A Society. The Cosmic Reverie Possesses A Sort Of Stability Or Tranquility. It Helps Us Escape Time. It Is A State.

I Am A Dreamer Of Words, Of Written Words. I Think I Am Reading; A Word Stops Me. I Leave The Page. The Syllables Of The Word Begin To Move Around. Stressed Accents Begin To Invert. The Word Abandons Its Meaning Like An Overload Which Is Too Heavy And Prevents Dreaming. Then Words Take On Other Meanings As If They Had The Right To Be Young. And The Words Wander Away, Looking In The Nooks And Crannies Of Vocabulary For New Company, Bad Company.

We Believe We Can Also Show That Words Do Not Have Exactly The Same Psychic "weight" Depending On Whether They Belong To The Language Of Reverie Or To The Language Of Daylight Life-to Rested Language Or Language Under Surveillance-to The Language Of Natural Poetry Or To The Language Hammered Out By Authoritarian Prosodies.

A Word Is A Bud Attempting To Become A Twig. How Can One Not Dream While Writing? It Is The Pen Which Dreams. The Blank Page Gives The Right To Dream.