>>Did any of the Haiku particularly strike your heart?
I tried to answer this before but it doesn’t seem to have worked.
No. My mind. I’m more head than heart.
>> Do you think the best poetry comes out of the hottest crucible?
Or is there no correlation?
Or is it the juncture of the biggest heart with the hottest crucible?
Or is it just the most awake eyes with the biggest heart?
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Poetry comes out of everything. No biggest anything. Everyone has stories inside themselves and everyone has their own rhythm. They have things they need to say about what is fundamental to their own nature, that they hope touches something within someone else. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But that can’t stop them from trying. Poetry, to me, is nothing more than the bones of thought. Sometimes elaborately carved, as in an etched whalebone. Sometimes as stark and bare as a skull on a desert floor. I love poetry because every single word counts. It’s a challenge to compress big ideas into small spaces. Thus your friend’s love of haiku-like verse. But I don’t think there’s any one way to go about anything. And it’s that variety that provides the richness in which we mentally roll.