I once said that forcing the beginning of the movement of the fingers is enough for the prose to take life. Or, in other words: prose is made by force. How different is poetry! In it, there is nothing to do: for it to come out with quality, it is necessary, above all, patience. In order to begin to compose it, the poem must be practically ready, that is: structurally defined and with the verses, at least, well sketched. And patience for the terrible work of finding among hundreds of thousands of words those that express the thought, fit the rhythm, and deliver the desired sonority. And more patience: for when, after exhausting work, the poem appears finished, it is time to put it to rest. Weeks? Months? What is clear is that, without tremendous patience, the verses do not reach the desired final form.
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