"I took a friend to an art exhibit; it was an installation art piece. I believe it was Joseph Beuys. We took the subway to a very seedy part of Chicago. We got off the subway—it was about five o’clock, the streets were empty, it was snowing—and we knocked on a big freight door. A man in a security uniform slides the door open and says, “What do you want?” and I said, “We’re here to see the Joseph Beuys exhibit.” He said, “Come with me,” and we walk into this huge, empty warehouse. Then he goes to the other side where he opens this tiny, little wooden door, and we walk through this narrow, little hallway, and he opens another door and there’s another huge warehouse. Then he goes to the other side, and we’re walking all the time, and my friend is baffled. He goes to another tiny, little door that we have to stoop to go through, and he says, “Here it is.” And there’s a brick wall, gold-leafed, and there’s a hat rack with a coat and hat there. The guard says, “Well, that’s it. Take a look.” So we took a look. He says, “Had enough?” and we said “Yeah.” So we turn around and walk out. My friend and I were talking about it, and he says, “I didn’t understand it.” And I made the comment he would understand it if I told him we’re no longer awake, what we’re going to experience now is a dream. There’s a logic to dreaming. We don’t ask the same logic of dreams that we ask of life. So I don’t think we should ask the same kind of logic and understanding of poems that we do of life. I think I’m moving in a different element when I’m reading or writing poems. I don’t ask the same things of them."

—Li-Young Lee, from the interview “Seeing the Power of Poetry” in Breaking the Alabaster Jar: Conversations with Li-Young Lee.