A Walt Whitman Poem for Christmas Day
My father, the departed and much-missed poet Dr Leonard Wolf, believed that once you write something, it no longer belongs to you.
It belongs, as he taught me and his many students, not to the author, but to the universe.
He also believed that even if a writer had just one reader, that was enough; the right words for the right reader meant that an entire universe was created. He was a Blakean, after all, and saw “Heaven in a Wild Flower.” He made literary use of the Talmud’s teaching: that if you save even one life, you have saved a world.
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