In the republic of poetry, a train full of poets rolls south in the rain as plum trees rock and horses kick the air, and village bands parade down the aisle with trumpets, with bowler hats, followed by the president of the republic, shaking every hand. In the republic of poetry, monks print verses about the night on boxes of monastery chocolate, kitchens in restaurants use odes for recipes from eel to artichoke, and poets eat for free. In the republic of poetry, poets read to the baboons at the zoo, and all the primates, poets and baboons alike, scream for joy. In the republic of poetry, poets rent a helicopter to bombard the national palace with poems on bookmarks, and everyone in the courtyard rushes to grab a poem fluttering from the sky, blinded by weeping. In the republic of poetry, the guard at the airport will not allow you to leave the country until you declaim a poem for her and she says Ah! Beautiful. "The Republic of Poetry," For Chile -- Martín Espada

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