Poems have their own fates, like children. You have only to give birth to them.
If you want to change the world's spirit, I will suggest that only poetry can do this.
The urge to kill, like the urge to beget,
Is blind and sinister. Its craving is set
Today on the flesh of a hare: tomorrow it can
Howl the same way for the flesh of a man.
The times spat at me. I spit back at the times.
Not all lines, not all images, survive their season.
Poetry is the only hopeEven if you do not believe it, you have to do it.
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