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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>This one for Hanque with thanks</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">All around the world, <br>poems are talking among themselves<br>when the books are shut, <br>when the computers are switched off, <br>when old-fashioned poets put down<br>chewed pencils, sucked ballpens, <br>lips a little stained with the flavour<br>of ink that’s washable or permanent; </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">poems talking among themselves<br>in that language that poems understand, <br>that poets seek to write; <br>poems murmuring, complaining, <br>sometimes shouting desperately, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">who are these people who<br>have dared to speak our language? What<br>is their right and reason? When<br>did they arise? Where<br>did they get their ideas? Why<br>do they even try? How<br>do they hope to improve on this? What<br>is a poet, anyway? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The tumult of their languages, <br>the babel of upraised voices<br>speaking, though, with that unutterable<br>beauty of that sound which can really act, <br>can change the world of change, <br>can touch the heart for lifetimes, <br>melts a heart of stone, <br>brings tears to eyes needful of tears, <br>opens clouds to blue sky and to sunlight, <br>watches angels as they ascend and descend, <br>speaks of, speaks, <br>the unknown, formless, eternal, ever present –</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">the tumult dies down; in the<br>silence and the stillness, <br>only the pure sound of sound itself; and</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">in that sound the absolution: <br>forgive them, O Muse of Poetry: <br>they know not what they do..<br>yet in their hearts, they know<br>what must be said. </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=459868" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The pain, exquisite; <br>found worthy; loved.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a></strong></div>

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