Why writers need to shut down their computers and go away:

Ode to a Book (1) (excerpted)

When I close a book I open life.
I hear
faltering cries
among harbours.

Book, let me go.
I won’t go clothed
in volumes, I don’t come out
of collected works,
my poems
have not eaten poems —
they devour exciting happenings,
feed on rough weather,
and dig their food
out of earth and men

I learned about life
from life itself,
love I learned in a single kiss
and could teach no one anything
except that I have lived
with something in common among men,
when fighting with them,
when saying all their say in my song.

PABLO NERUDA Odas Elementales (1954)