IN THE SANCTUARY OF POETRY

Wrapped in poetry we are free: to be vulnerable, to be magical, to transcend our smallness, our coarseness. Poetry is the whispering of the soul. Poetry is the language of spiritual seekers. In the temple of poetry we are close to God because we are close to our innermost being.

The signature of our souls is visible in simple sentences we utter. Two sentences spoken and I know who you are. Strange, you can determine so much with so little. Sometimes I think that language uses us. Deep down I know that we choose the language that will choose us. Our language is our outer skin. Our words are the beams of our inner energy. If we have none, our words are numb.

Our language is worn out nowadays because it has been over exploited to convey the hum-drum, the trivial, the ugly, the useless. In the process, we have been polluted with the poisonous and ugly fall out. To undergo the linguistic catharsis, we need to inhale a clean language which is at the service of transcendental concerns.

One writes poetry in order to renew one's language and in order to renew one's being. To try to renew language and yourself is an attempt to reach heaven and ask it for its blessings. Such is the simplest explanation why one writes poetry.

Poetic language is a conveyor of energy and a messenger of sublimityof life. Such has been its role since ancient times. The bards of antiquity were revered as a gift of heaven. When language sings through the souls, this is an act of cosmic significance. On such occasions, the great sublime longings of the human spirit and the subtle energy of cosmic forces are fused together. Poetry will never die for it is a cosmic force of continuous transcendence and of magic exaltation. It is a Promethean force leading the human to ever new levels of self perfectibility.

Poetry had begun as an expression of the ecstasy of the soul, as a manifestation of the fire of the dancing heart. The twilight of poetry is the discovery of the extraordinary immensity of our inner life. When a poem strikes right it is as if a ray of sunshine enters the eyeball to settle in the soul.

Henryk Skolimowski