poetry exists in the spaces, those interstices between language, object and event. and yet it is to the language, capital L, to which we write, at least for me.

to use a phrase from Obi-Wan Kenobi, language is the force, it is what binds and energizes the human being. there can be no truths or falsehoods without it. and yet, language is an abstraction, which blocks the way to absolute knowledge.

but is there absolute knowledge? does absolute evil and absolute good exist in our reality. to live in the world is to live in reality, however one wishes to define it.

can language embody these absolutes if they are shown to exist at all? or perhaps, they exist in the realm of equations: cold, beautiful, but not carnate.

Stevens reminds us: Reality is the base, but it is only the base. and Olson tell us the poem is a high energy construct got from the poet via language from there over to here.

and so: