Hexagram 55 as the principle of Poetry?

This quotation, from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, made me wonder ...

No man was ever yet a great poet,
without being at the same time a profound philosopher.
For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge,
human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language.

... It's that line, For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge ...

... the blossom and the fragrance ... both soaring into fullness at a peak moment ... Are we present at the unfurling?

There isn't a lot of space to stand on at the top of a mountain if that's what's directly under your feet ... but there you are, at the peak; all that climbing accomplished ... and you are also standing on the mountain proper -- the entire structure is under your feet ... like all of language is a foundation from which great poems arise, shearing away the excess, the unneeded ... the superfluous.

I'm having some trouble articulating this idea; trying to define poetry (and in this case, using a mountain as a metaphor for Poetry as a principle) is a very agnostic experience ... I'm playing a hunch ...

But one image persists: the peak. The highest point; the pinnacle. What kind of people tend to climb mountains, and to habitate their peaks? ... Professional and extreme-sport climbers; ancient peoples who are wedded to these places of wild winds; hermits, mystics and monks ... People who live very lean lives, except for what they require to survive. And many of these people require spare and sacred lines of thought in what they read and study ... an economy of words; a taut, exacting line of prose or prayer -- and who's to say that a line in a mountaineer's survival manual can't be considered the pinnacle of words, a lifeline of words, when urgent direction is needed ...

In a way, great poems can be lifelines when urgent direction is needed, or a perspective requires a radical shift. Such poems can deliver, in one line (You, who are all the gardens / I have gazed at, longing ... ~ Rilke, addressing God), all that is needed for a lone mystic to remember, trigger, and sing through with the Holy.

One line ... one "peak" of words; that's all it can take to transport a reader from words on a page to the Real.

The principle of Poetry as I'm imagining it here is perhaps a singular clarity of thought: a "peak" thought ... Ah-ha! ... Yes! ... I've got it!! Poetry, in principle, is a gem of an idea; a brief, all-in-one thought. Epiphany. The height of possibly years of rumination, moodling, wondering, simmering.

Perhaps Poetry is an idea, honed to its peak. A zenith of words ...


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