A random thought about poetry:

A device occasionally seen in fiction (and I wouldn't be surprised if it has roots in mythology) goes something like this. A stone with pulsating magical energy is a portal to another world, but you can enter it only if the frequency of your own life essence matches the rhythm of the stone.

The example I have to hand is in Pawn's Dream by Eric S Nyland (1995), but the details need not concern us here. I have a vague feeling I've seen similar devices elsewhere.

I was once struck by the thought that this is a great metaphor for poetry. A poem, too, is a portal into another world. But in most cases, entering that world requires a conscious effort to adjust, as it were, the pace of my thoughts to match the pace of the words.

The poems I perceive as great (rather than merely good) do not require that effort. A great poem is one that meets me where I already am and invites me in to its world.

Any thoughts?
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