a poetry

a poetry that doesn't blink when the world/life rears up in all its voraciousness.

a poetry that comes from/goes to feeling, but knows the snares of self-delusion contained therein.

a poetry committed to seeing whatever is real, whatever can stand up to a scepticism as to its (reality's) nature.

a poetry, however private and individual, that knows no experience is either.

a poetry gentle with the gentle, quick with the cruel, uncompromising with those who hide their cruelty under a veneer of gentility or ignorance.

If we have to choose between truth and beauty, let it be truth. But let us look forward to the day Keats thought had arrived two hundred years ago, when they become the same.

A poetry unafraid of ideas or the mind (one cannot see without them), but one that recognizes that "things" can sometimes be ideas. Sometimes; not always.

And, experiment, the new? It's included above, along with the archaic. Not foregrounded; included. "True imagination makes up nothing; it is a way of seeing the world." (G. Davenport)