Haul

There is a great deal, in the writing of poetry, which must be conscious and deliberate. In fact, the bad poet is usually unconscious when he ought to be conscious and conscious when he ought to be unconscious. Both errors tend to make him “personal”. Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

—T. S. Eliot from Tradition and the Individual Talent (1917)—


Another trove of treasure found
with sturdy covers firmly bound
I’ll dive into these shining dreams
to scavenge anything that gleams;
this trek has been a constant quest
to find an overflowing chest
of precious gems that sparkle bright
with glaring facets of delight
from kingdoms I have never known
that beckon me (as timbers groan)
beyond the continental shelf
to finally see outside myself.