the
poem does not
of
course create the
world
(nor its own either) but
because
it forges
a
precise link be
tween
language and reali
ty
it lights up in brief glimps
es
(like october’s
gold
over the thick
et
of brambles) the exist
ing
world making it
more
than visible
further
in complete
ly
out there where lan
guage
borders on reali
ty
there lies the wood
of
emeralds where
the
wild brambles are still in
flower
and their branches plait them
selves
in and out of
the
writing so as
to
hold the world together
in
the gleaming net
work
of the poem
bramble
brombær bram
ble
blackberry bram
ble
mure sauvage bramble
brombeere
bramble
brombeerstrauch
bramble
(the
spanish translation) bram
ble
(the italian trans
lation)
bramble (the
swedish
translation)
the
international worldwide
combat
day of the
bramble
brambleday
further
out complete
ly
in there where re
ality
and language al
most
resemble each
other
there lies the
wood
of emeralds where the
words
‘bramble’ and ‘thicket’ light
up
your own centre
so
you can see (per
ceive)
the blackberries clearly
and
distinctly when
you
yourself see them
i
have cut down the
bramble
thicket to
day
really cut it down to
size
out there at the
hedge
facing east the
bramble
thicket that resem
bles
my own poetry so
wildly
untama
ble
and prickly the
bramble
thicket that grows up
more
vigorously
each
time its pruned back
the
poem like a
catalyst
almost unreal
in
that reali
ty
it gathers to
gether
into a world like
the
finest plati
num
dust transparent
almost
like a spiritual
event
that no one
can
see with the na
ked
eye which only reads the
words
of the poem
hints
tips and good ad
vice
to a young po
et:
‘it sounds so beautiful’
i
said - ‘does lofty
poetry
but po
etry
is only lofty
to
the same extent as life
is
denigrated
and
debased’ - i said
‘poetry
ought to be more
like
a turnip in
its
fat fertile soil’
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