it resonates with exactly the idea you'd expressed in your reflection on what poetry means to each person...
Eating Poetry
My poems resemble the bread of Egypt—one night
Passes over it, and you can't eat it any more.
So gobble them down now, while they're still fresh,
Before the dust of the world settles on them.
Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
Out in the world it dies of cold.
You've seen a fish—put him on dry land,
He quivers for a few minutes, and then is still.
And even if you eat my poems while they're still fresh,
You still have to bring forward many images yourself.
Actually, friend, what you're eating is your own imagination.
These poems are not just a bunch of old proverbs.
Rumi
(translated by Robert Bly)
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This poem could refer to almost any thought or profound reality, that hits one in a moment of startling clarity, that might come from a reading, a conversation, an image, a dream, an equation, anything really. The understanding that emerges from it must be processed completely and shelved with utmost care and respect, in a most accessible place in the mind, to be drawn upon at any future instance, so the wisdom gained may be shared in all its brilliance...
