My old teacher, Amy Bloom, called attention to a part of a poem:
All who come
All who come into the world
All who come into the world are sent.
Open your curtain of spirit.
This is an excerpt from "The Ghost of Heaven" by Carolyn Forche. The poet makes an observation. If you're here on Earth, then it's likely someone sent you. And the purpose for sending you must relate to your spirit. So go ahead and reveal yourself to the world.
What I especially like is the use of line breaks. There is a difference between a simple declaration--"All who come into the world are sent"--and the thing you get in Forche's work.
By doling out new words slowly, Forche makes sure that the final word, "sent," has special emphasis. It's like the unmasking of the murderer at the end of a mystery play.
Content dictates form. Being "sent" is a special thing; the idea requires an idiosyncratic kind of spacing, an idiosyncratic use of repetition.
I'm inspired by that twist.
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