Poetry (n.) is not situated in the beyond as the fantastic impossibility of a poet's brain. It wants to be exactly the opposite: The unadorned expression of the truth, and it must therefore cast off the false costume of that negative truth of the man of culture.
Poetry (n.) is thoughts festively, on the carriage of rhythm: usually because they could not walk.
Poetry's (n.) origin was ultimately utilitarian, for rhythm amounts to a more memorable form of speech that is audible over greater distances (even to the Gods) and possesses a force with which to impress (even the Gods), and is endowed with an elemental compulsion which engenders an unconquerable urge to yield and join in and to compel (even the Gods).
Poetry (n.) is what good prose is written in view of; the great masters of prose have almost always been poets as well.
Poetry (n.) is talked about so abstractly because we are all wont to be bad poets.
Poetry (n.) began, it appears, as magic song and incantation.
Poetry (n.) conducts thoughts along festively in the carriage of rhythm — usually because they are incapable of walking on foot.
Poetry (n.) stripped of the suggestion of love's intestinal fever leaves what? Art for art's sake — the virtuoso croaking of abandoned frogs in their swamp.