If poetry shouldn't worry about being beautiful or pleasant or seeking for truth; if poetry has to be painful, accompany our sleepless nights; if it is born in blotted notebooks while one walks up and down the city; if it must take us to the very edge of the precipice, "paralysed by the strange, vague doubt of continued existance", in short to possess "the raging force of life", then this book is full of authentic poetry.