thus becomes his brother; only now, as the stranger's brother, does he also become the brother of the stranger's sister whose "lunar voice rings through the ghostly night," as the last lines of "Ghostly Twilight" (131) say it.
Apartness is the poem's site because the music of the stranger's ringing-radiant footfall inflames his followers' dark wandering into listening song. The dark wandering, dark because it merely follows after, nevertheless clean their souls toward the blue. Then the whole being of the singing soul is one single concentrated gaze ahead into the blue of night which holds that stiller earliness.
Soul then is purely a blue moment
is what the poem "Childhood" (98) says about it.
Thus the nature of apartness is perfected. It is the perfect site of the poetic work only when, being both the gathering of the stiller childhood and the stranger's grave, it gathers to itself also those who follow him who died early, by listening after him and carrying the music of his path over into the sounds of spoken language, so that they become men apart. Their song is poetry. How so? What is the poet's work?
The poet's work means: to say after-to say again the music of the spirit of apartness that has been spoken to the poet. For the longest time-before it comes to be said, that is, spoken-the poet's work. is only a listening. Apartness first gathers the listening into its music, so that this music may ring through the spoken saying in which it wilt resound. The lunar coolness of the ghostly night's holy blue rings and shines through all such gazing and saying. Its language becomes a saying-after, it becomes: poetry. Poetry's spoken words shelter the poetic statement as that which by its essential nature remains unspoken. In this manner, the saying-after, thus called upon to listen, becomes "more pious," that is to say, more pliable to the promptings of the path on which the stranger walks ahead, out of the dark of childhood into the stiller, brighter earliness. The poet listening after him can thus say to himself: