Ingenting får en mann til å forsøke å bevise at han er like ungdommelig som noen gang.--- Ingen er bare ulykkelig når hans beste venn dummer seg ut...

To you I appeal, O my soul !
When I was not yet born,
poetry already existed.
Poetry will remain
when I`m no longer moving.
It is in everything;
in Nature,
in people,
inside
and outside me,
like beams of light,
like radio waves,
in the atmosphere
and in outer space.

Poems exist unwritten,
unrhymed,
unprinted,
not even felt by anyone,
just like the anti-world,
and still undetected
like biocurrents of the universe.

And the poet is like a receiver.
And if he is a genuine one
not knocked off his chump by fame or awards,
not an official, but human,
thinking and suffering,
he`ll let the waves of poetry pass
through his destiny,
through his soul.

All the world is poetry.
And I appeal to you,
please be a good receiver,
sensitive,
Multiranged  like this century;
whenever one wavelength`s damped,
switch to another
to sense poetry -
the bio currents of human hearts.