We think about sex obsessively except during the act, when our minds tend to wander.
Why are stamps adorned with kings and presidents? That we may lick their hinder parts and thump their heads.
When you write it doesn't occur to you that somebody could think different from what you do.
Mostly the thought and the verse come inseparably. In my poem Poetics, it's as close as I come to telling how I do it.
Language is remarkable, except under the extreme constraints of mathematics and logic, it never can talk only about what it's supposed to talk about but is always spreading around.
I've never read a political poem that's accomplished anything. Poetry makes things happen, but rarely what the poet wants.
When in still air and still in summertime A leaf has had enough of this, it seems To make up its mind to go; fine as a sage Its drifting in detachment down the road.
The nice thing about the Bible is it doesn't give you too many facts. Two an a half lines and it tells you the whole story and that leaves you a great deal of freedom to elaborate on how it might have happened.
I have a plot, but not much happens.
I like all my children, even the squat and ugly ones.
The historian is terribly responsible to what he can discern are the facts of the case, but he's nothing if he doesn't make out a case.
That so much of our experience, or the stereotype which passes for it should be dealt with by means of the short story is perhaps a symptom not unnoticeable elsewhere in the public domain of an unlovely cynicism about human character.
For a Jewish Puritan of the middle class, the novel is serious, the novel is work, the novel is conscientious application why, the novel is practically the retail business all over again.
A chronicle is very different from history proper.
I think there was a revolution in poetry, associated chiefly with Eliot and Pound; but maybe it is of the nature of revolutions or of the nature of history that their innovations should later come to look trivial or indistinguishable from technical tricks.
I sometimes talk about the making of a poem within the poem.
Occasionally a student writer comes up with something really beautiful and moving, and you won't know for years if it was an accident or the first burst of something wonderful.
I never abandoned either forms or freedom. I imagine that most of what could be called free verse is in my first book. I got through that fairly early.
Obvious enough that generalities work to protect the mind from the great outdoors; is it possible that this was in fact their first purpose?
Till I, high in the tower of my time Among familiar ruins, began to cry For accident, sickness, justice, war and crime, Because all died, because I had to die. The snow fell, the trees stood, the promise kept, And a child I slept.
History is one of those marvelous and necessary illusions we have to deal with. It's one of the ways of dealing with our world with impossible generalities which we couldn't live without.
I am not at all clear what free verse is anymore. That's one of the things you learn not to know.
I do insist on making what I hope is sense so there's always a coherent narrative or argument that the reader can follow.
I would talk in iambic pentameter if it were easier.
Children, to be illustrious is sad.
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