Recently I read the April issue of The 21st Century, and I discovered, on page 16, a sarcastic, meaningful poem, called "The Tie-Raid." After having read twice the bitter "story of the condemnation and glory," I was delighted to learn that the poem was yours and the editor printed your name with bold characters. This had a special meaning to me: a new and talented poet has been promoted out of 40,000 teens to whom this monthly journal is addressed.

I didn't stop reading the other poems, too. They lifted up my spirit. They moved me further into many possible forms of life, when all of a sudden, I got into the vertebral column of that section of "Poetry," on page 17. In that moment I heard myself alone in the house exclaiming as I read: Wooow!..."BOOMERANG." After reading the poem with such a great pleasure, I thought that the editor considered you already a consecrated, professional, well-known poet: this time your name had been printed not with bold, but with romanic characters.

As you probably know, all the young generations of poets have been, are, and always will be interested in reading the poetry written by the older generations. All the mature poets living in any century have been, are, and will always be interested to read and to feel the poetry written by the youngest newcomers. So am I. And I'm watching you with a thirsty interest. Why? Because you, all, are those who can tell me in the newest, original sense, what poetry means, where the poetry is going to and what kind of literature will be created in the next century in which our contemporary world has put so much hope.

Listen, Stephen, now I can tell you sincerely: your "Boomerang" appears to me a symbol of something that makes people happy. Let's call it Perfection. The idea reminds me of many masterpieces of the history of art and literature. The old Goethe tells us in "Faust" about the beauty of the instant that he finally implored to stop forever.

When in the second part of "Boomerang" the poet recalls that beautiful, precious time spent together with his creation "into the great sapphire depths of sky/where no bird wheels or dives" (what a sensitive, pictural, moving image!) he appears astonished by his sublime creation and feels revealed by it. Making the "[wood] would fly," is an unusual, exciting, paradoxal thing to happen. So is poetry. And through the poem "Boomerang," I discovered a new and unique definition of poetry, given by a poet of The 21st Century. I have no more words to say, but to thank you, my dear friend!