Beloved Teacher

“Come along, don’t hang around, take your time. Don’t start writing love poems, they’re the hardest; wait ’til you’re at least 80. Write about something else: the sea, the wind, a radiator, a tram running late. No one thing’s more poetic than another. Poetry isn’t without, it’s within. Don’t ask what’s poetic or true. Look in the mirror, poetry’s you. Dress your poems up, choose your words carefully. Be selective. Sometimes you need eight months to find a word. Beauty started when people began to choose since Adam and Eve. You know how long Eve took to pick the right fig leaf? “How about this one?” She stripped bare all the fig trees in Paradise. Fall in love. If you don’t, it’s all dead! Fall in love and everything will come to life. Squander your joy, dissipate your cheerfulness, be sad and silent with enthusiasm, hurl your happiness into people’s faces. And how? Let me look at my notes, I’ve forgotten. That’s what you should do. I can’t read ’em. To convey happiness you must be happy. To convey pain you must be happy. Be happy, you must suffer! Don’t be scared of suffering. The whole world suffers! If you don’t have the means, don’t worry. Only one thing is necessary to write poetry: everything. Don’t try to be modern. It’s the most old-fashioned thing there is. If a line doesn’t come to you in this position, chuck yourself on the ground. It’s lying down that you’ll see the sky. Why didn’t I do that before? What are you looking at? Poets don’t look, they see. Make words obey you. If the word “wall” doesn’t take any notice, don’t use it again for eight years! That’ll teach it! What’s that? No idea? That’s true beauty, like those lines there that I want left there forever. Erase it all. We’ve got to start. The lesson’s over.”