Norwid is the poet closest to sculpture. Perhaps because he was himself a sculptor, perhaps because he held blocks in his hands, kneading them according to his will, so that they took on shapes submitted to him. Word and matter are two opposing worlds that no one has brought closer in poetry like he did – the word subjected to his verses seems as malleable as clay. This giant of thought, Christian genius, "unwrapped" words, kneaded them so that the Spirit seemed to burst forth from them as if from a fist clenched on clay. Simultaneously, he belongs to the few who, throughout history, conscious of the timelessness of thought, spoke to the "late descendant". In a very special way, I consider him a brother in struggles for the "shape of love".
