There was a time when only traditional music was
listened to; then a time when only contemporary.
Now we live in another kind of time, when not only
every past era, but also every other culture, presents
its version of music (& they even mingle). --But our
literature, & even moreso our poetry, remains mired
in the contemporary paradigm(s). This is its doom, &
also its charm: to be unlike our music.

   ”The World

It burns in the void,
Nothing upholds it.
Still it travels.

Travelling the void
Upheld by burning
Nothing is still.

Burning it travels.
The void upholds it.
Still it is nothing.

Nothing it travels
A burning void
Upheld by stillness.”

--Kathleen Raine