Ungaretti, considered the father of Hermetic poetry, presents beautifully terse lyrics that sing loud, despite their brevity. Here's a beautiful excerpt:
Time is silent among motionless rushes...
Far from moorings drifted a canoe...He doesn't write for a reader, nor does he care if a reader responds to his work. Note the lack of popular allusions. Note the lack of interplay between writer and reader. This is a personal meditation, devoid of extension or concern for the critic.
Exhausted and sluggish the oarsman...The heavens
Already Fallen into abysses of smoke...
Stretched out in vain at the edge of memory,
It may be falling was mercy...
He did not know
It is the same illusion world and mind,
That in the mystery of its own waves
Every earthly voice is shipwrecked