"the wise knot"

Have you ever written a novel
that was worthless, completely?
Even in the doing - that gave no pleasure
and taught you nothing? That improved
not a jot the sureness and ability
of your voice - leading heart and mind,
if only yours, and if only home,
only not so very well lost -
on familiar roads and untraveled ways
through the countryside of the language
you dare to call your own? That led
nowhere, past nothing of note,
as you wrote it down? That produced
and contained no ideas of yours
you were proud to have found,
and fix in place? That developed
no useful developments, no striking
or stirring moods, no sense of open space
or constricting time? No views
telescoping to distances
embracing them; No transportive shifts,
no magic of real true things, unbent
by your whitened and straining hand?
You have not? Of course you have not!
No one has. So why don't you, then?