Classic Poem

Before books and after books is the human soul,
Before the beauty and eminence of that which is written is the superior beauty and eminence of that which is written about,
Before the magnificence of the greatest book comes the majesty of the meanest soul.
O my dear brother, do you propose to retire before the presence of a book?
Do you consent to go away somewhere and let the book take your place?
Is the book so undoubtable and are you so much less undoubtable?
Is the sun to produce the fly and is the sun to blot itself out in the derived life of the fly?
Is the book to mean so many things and do you mean less than the book or nothing at all?
When I am hunting for life do I turn the pages of a book or do I lift the skin off your palpitating body?
The book might not answer the heart but man could not refuse to answer the heart,
The word of the book can easily fail but the word of the man cannot fail.
Have we forgotten the man who wrote the book in remembering the book?
Do we put books on the shelves of our libraries and give notice that man is no longer necessary?
Does the book go to bed with us at night and answer us hunger for hunger in the appetite of the flesh?
You know where the book comes from—Oh yes, you know, you know:
Do you know where man comes from—Oh, do you know, do you know?
The written life has made light of the unwritten life,
The song that was sung has taken the place of the song that was left unsung:
We have united in the praise of words, in the adoration of the pageantry of phrases.
Now I seem to hear a voice that calls me back to man,
Now I seem to hear footsteps that lead me back to the love of the body and of the soul,
Now I seem to see all words withdrawn and the divine presence of man substituted for the malpresence of words,
Now the abused words have retreated to take their places in the dictionary,
Now the soul which so long fed upon words may feed upon the soul again,
Now the love of man for man may no longer treat through halting phrases but may confess to love direct
At last I have learned the lesson of words which is a lesson not of words,
At last I have learned to refer words to the soul and not to refer the soul to words,
At last I have seen that words at their best are poor and that man at his worst is rich,
At last I have substituted life's order for the chaos of words about life,
At last all words however strong and however gentle and however beautiful have retired from the avenues of life,
At last I am left alone with the soul and the soul's uncertainties and the soul's assurances.
For I have made up the whole account of life at last,
I have shown to myself the totals which so long perplexed me,
The totals of life, the added treasure of life, unmixed with sordid syllables of speech,
Taking to my very flesh and my very spirit the throbbing body of original law,
Seeing life again as life was seen before a word of life had been spoken,
Seeing life again as before words about life had taken the sacred seat and proclaimed the regime of phrases,
Seeing finally with inexorable vision the way that life comes and the way that life goes whatever may happen with words,
I who know that before books and after books is the human soul.