The language that is commonly spoken is awkward and intrusively unputdownable, like the endless input of a Frequency 1 commentator, but for some reason all the important things in life happen to its accompaniment. One is so completely surrounded by platitudes and clichés that one has no choice but to realise oneself through them. And then the poet can be caught looking at himself writing the biography of a tuning-fork and masochistically adopting it as his own.
Czech edition