There is a way of
seeing the world different
Than all the ingenious imaginings of indigent intellectuals
See. So totally different and yet the same...
Different than a world without foundations -
The same as the world of wondrous poetical wonderings
About what there is nothing to say. Because it is not intellectual
But visceral and in its maw-like coming all is subsumed
By a world placed upon a mantle, some elevated station
Elevated by what is missing and is noticed so
The such and so of the poets soulful wanderings.
It is so, and such that even the poet frets out the workings
As if their interior paramour was not the full reality
Real enough until encountered fully in the fullness of their noticing
Yet noticing not that they are noticing not
But rather, like early morning mist rising to blanket the still waters
From which it arises, their poetical pondering blankets their stillness
From which all for them arises - not noticed - but nascently natured
In full presence not seen, yet not unknown
Not seen, yet still known
Not seen for senses see not what is not there
Vision senses what senses do not see
By nature of the equipment deployed
Vision being the veritable all-seeing eyes, that see not
But are vision itself being what it is - fully.
Eyes are not tools of the poet anymore than words are
They are the terrible truth of one who speaks of what is real
And not. To understand this is to envision the world as the poet...
As she is - creative founder of this edifice; and what is missing
From what is not.
James M. Corrigan