Friday, April 7, 2017


Geof Huth, "veign" (7 April 2017)

A poem is not an event; it is the culmination of a life. Every life is in a constant process of reaching its furthest point out, which it reaches over and over again.

In some lives, a poem is created at many of those possible end points. A poem is an accident of life, nothing more than what a human body could create out of words. At that moment, and maybe only at that moment.

A pwoermd is usually no more than an instant's inspiration, a simple thing. It comes all at once. Even unexpectedly.

I don't write pwoermds. I look for them and find them and I write them down. Or they come into me unbidden and I transfer them to another's mind.

That's all it is. Today, I looked at a piece of polished stone. I found a pwoermd and wrote it onto the stone in a few seconds in a controlled run of ink.

And now it is hidden in a box, ready to be found by someone else.


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