The prose writer drags meaning along with a rope, the poet makes it stand out and hit you.
If literature (realistic) did really resemble life, it would be interminable, dreary, commonplace eating and dressing, buttoning, with here and there a patch of vividness. Life is composed of exquisite moments and the rest is shadows of them.
There were certain impressions I wanted to fix. I read verse models but none seemed to suitably express that kind of impression.. until I came to read French vers libre which seemed to eactly fitr the case.