What makes a poet? br br Many have tried to guess. br Is it a voice br like a conduit, br a plainspokenness to grief, br the hairs of the head br dancing on end, br the blood swarming br with the voices br of all those who have died, br will die, br & will also be born? br br Is it a catch br in the throat br that awakens the eyes, br is it in the eyes themselves br or is it something br in the heart? br br I think it is pain- br an openness to pain, br so that the least leaf br cuts the hand br & the smallest tear br cuts the cheek br like jagged crystal, br br so that the world br is a sick infant br & the poet its mother, br praying, crooning, promising br to be good br if only the cure br takes. br br There is, of course, br no cure. br br Poetry does not cure br the poet br & the poet br does not cure the world. br br Usually he catches br the world's diseases br & dies br even before his time. br br But against all odds br & all indifference, br another one is born. br The world must have br someone to feel its pain br & speak of it. br br The poet is that mouth.