Edith Södergran: The September Lyre
That my writing is poetry none can deny, that it’s on verses I won’t postulate. I have attempted to give certain reluctant poems a rhythm and have thereby observed that I only own the skill of images and words in full liberty, that is, at the cost of rhythm.
My poems should be regarded as careless hand drawings.
Concerning the content, I let my instinct build up whatever my intellect in awaiting posture witnesses. My self-confidence lies in the fact that I have discovered my dimensions. It is not my cause to make me any less than I am.