O, Nights of Young! How many headaches you have caused me! It is only by admitting the night physically that one is able to admit it morally. Poetry is no more tempest than it is cyclone. It is the poet who consoles humanity! The roles are arbitrarily inverted. Only two kinds of poetry exist there is only one.Ī far from tacit convention exists between author and reader, by which the former calls himself the sick one, and accepts the latter as nurse. I accept Euripides and Sophocles but I do not accept Aeschylus.ĭo not manifest toward the Creator a lack of the most elementary conventions and good taste.Ĭast aside disbelief: you will make me happy. First principles should be beyond argument. THE POETIC whimperings of this century are nothing but sophistry. Scepticism with faith, sophistry with the Lucio Fontana | Concetto spaziale, Venice Moon, 1961
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