He worked for an insurance company for 40 years. Every day he got up at six o’clock and went to bed at nine o’clock. In his life there are no remarkable vicissitudes or extravagant episodes. No one would suppose that this man possessed of an ordinary and boring life was the author of one of the most singular poetic works of the 20th century.

When asked to write a biographical sketch to introduce his work, the American modernist poet Wallace Stevens declined to write it.

He believed deeply that poetry is not personal and that the voice behind his poems was actually someone else’s.

Someone, in the distance, observes the identical houses in a lonely suburb in the United States. In the city of money, yesterday as today, a crowd walks restlessly. Faceless voices read fragments of the poet’s letters. He himself recites his poems. A golden-feathered bird sings a song.

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