I speak now of the past. A certain person once

inquired of me about how to make poems, and so I have

set down here the small returns of my thoughts on the matter.

I relegate most of my opinions to the whims of my own

incompetent heart. I have not the slightest principle

to aver, and have written here in the simplest of language.

I beg your indulge for the unworthiness of what

you are about to read. Think of my words as

merely personal and irrational nonsense.

(Translation by KLR)