When young I had an insane lust for books:
novels, history, deep philosophy,
and especially noted poetry.
My bookshelves bend with grave biographies,
yet I cherish autobiographies
that I cannot part with until I die.
I have little leisure to read these books,
and now I favor music above all—
there’s more poetry in music than words,
more eloquence, even more emotion.
And yet, I remain committed to words,
whether from mere habit or compulsion,
for words are more primary in our lives.
Words abide as the basis of action.
Without words we are not human beings—
we are blind monkeys stuck in a forest...