Poetry, this terribly difficult art, is a continuous exercise of patience. In poetry, haste is always the error. It is a real upheaval to know that, on the one hand, one must take advantage of spontaneous manifestations, which spring up in bursts and give great power to the verses; but, on the other hand, one must let the verses cool down, solidify, and then grind them calmly, adjusting the rhythm, changing words, refining expression. The stab wound of noticing a blemish caused by hastiness is extremely painful. A whole exhausting work, therefore, is spoiled when it is no longer possible to repair it. From it, to the artist, only failure, only frustration will remain. That is why poetic work is an exercise in self-control, in patience, where the poet must also act as a strategist, releasing and containing his impulses, suspecting himself even when he will conclude that he should not do it. And, still, it will not be enough…
The Human Brain Always Ends Up Humiliated
The human brain always ends up humiliated when it yields to the irresistible temptation to order the irrational. It would be much easier if it accepted it in its unlimited manifestations, and assumed for itself its own limits. One cannot concatenate the spontaneous, the unheard-of, the exceptional, without running an immense risk of falling into ridicule. Error is the fruit of presumption. If reason demands answers, lacks logic, it must be content most of the time with the very process of analysis, with simply reducing possible mistakes through careful observation, and avoiding, as much as possible, hasty judgment. The irrational exists, imposes itself, and does not give a damn about its considerations.
Every Artist Has Inclinations and Deficiencies
Every artist has inclinations and deficiencies. There are themes that, by an innate disposition, come out naturally and brilliantly; others, however, present difficulties. Therefore, first of all, it is important that the artist is able to identify and classify them. Then, it is necessary to work to develop his weaknesses, and this is done by exercising the representation of what is opposite, exploring forms, taking risks. In art, of course, there are choices; but there are also weaknesses, and these, if not taken on board, in their own way, will always manage to become entrenched as obvious defects. Thus, will be complete the artist who, through effort, converts into strength that which is not natural to him.
I Never Cease to Be Impressed…
I never cease to be impressed by the cultural environment experienced and described by men from other times. For me, it is immersing myself in a parallel reality that I would think impossible if there were not so many testimonies in different languages and from different times. Everything seems to point to me that I and my circumstance are the exceptions. Every time I go through these diaries, letters and the like, it is not without a smile on my face that I make my notes. Letters! There are no letters anymore; the epistolary genre has become almost poetic. And to think of all this literature conceived under the smell of ink, feathers, lamps, sturdy furniture… and outside theaters, operas, soirees… is a whole reality that impresses above all by its contrast. Perhaps it is all very well, and it is a privilege to be able to appreciate it with this charm only conferred by time…