In my serpentine researches
I came on a book review in Poetry
which began, with sublime assurance,
a comprehensive air of majesty,

“The art of poetry
is amply distinguished from the manufacture of verse
by the animating presence in the poetry
of a fresh idiom; language

so twisted & posed in a form
that it not only expresses the matter in hand
but adds to the stock of available reality.”
I was never altogether the same man after that.

John Berryman, “Olympus”