0005 Letter To A Younger Poet

Thanks for your letter. Though you’ve caught me at a rather awkward time – I’m going into surgery tomorrow – a rather risky op; so I’ll try to put all the answers that I’ve got into this one letter; I hope you'll understand... and that helps me to make my first point to you: write as if you, too, may not live beyond tomorrow – write as if it’s the last thing that you’ll ever write – give it everything you’ve got, hold nothing back; or better still – write as if the world will end for everyone tomorrow: write so that in their last hours, too, this will make them feel, will make them know we’ve faced life fully, faced it so complete that death is relatively unimportant now… write as if it were only yesterday that, in an air crash, all your family – parents, wife or husband, partner, children, and best friend, had lost their lives; write as if, were you not to write, your heart would break forever, or you would go mad... write as if you’re writing somewhere where there’s no such thing around, as ink; you’ll have to use your own blood in the pen, so use it carefully; so red, so living, look at it… so beautiful, so precious, and so solemn – use it carefully, don’t spill a drop… write as if you’re borrowing every word from the very centre of the universe, where suns and gods are made; and need thus to account for every word with your whole life, no less; know that every word must be given back, cleaner, stronger, brighter with your own power, than when you borrowed it; write as if every poet that ever lived is leaning over your shoulder, so that you can feel their breath upon your neck as they say ‘Tell them all that we would tell, but cannot now; tell them all of this’… this, now, is how you must deeply be and speak; write as if you are the only being on earth who can tell them this; as if tomorrow, if tomorrow comes, you shall visit them every one, at home, and look them in the eye; write as if you love them more than they will ever know; write as if you were offering to live their lives with them; write as if you were a force of nature in yourself: as if whatever earthquake, hurricane or flood might do, whatever law or love may greatly do, whatever gods or men can speak, in fullest force, this you may do, because the sound of poetry is such; yes, write ‘as if’ – but know you really write ‘because’… write as if – no, write because – you know that only poetry can tell all, that must be told, and must be known; and as all hearts melt in the heat of your own love, be in no doubt – and see that all are in no doubt too – that life was never, never more serious, never more glorious, than it is right now; write all this.