The poem is this:
a nuance of sound
delicately operating
upon a cataract of sense. 
Vague. What a stupid
image. Who operates?
And who is operated
on? How can a nuance 
operate on anything?
It is all in
the sound. A song.
Seldom a song. It should  
be a song-- made of
particulars, wasps,
a gentian-- something
immediate, open 
scissors, a lady's
eyes-- the particulars
of a song waking
upon a bed of sound. 
-- from 'The Poet and His Poems';
....William Carlos Williams (1939)

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