It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobbledstreets silent and the hunched courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea.
I like to think of poetry as statements made on the way to the grave.
My birthday began with the water - Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name.
I believe in New Yorkers. Whether they’ve ever questioned the dream in which they live, I wouldn’t know, because I won’t ever dare ask that question.
I think, that if I touched the earth, It would crumble; It is so sad and beautiful, So tremulously like a dream.
Man’s wants remain unsatisfied till death. Then, when his soul is naked, is he one With the man in the wind, and the west moon, With the harmonious thunder of the sun
The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.
Poetry is not the most important thing in life... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking sweets.
What I like to do is treat words as a craftsman does his wood or stone or what-have-you, to hew, carve, mold, coil, polish, and plane them into patterns, sequences, sculptures, fugues of sound expressing some lyrical impulse, some spiritual doubt or conviction, some dimly realized truth I must try to reach and realize.
... an ugly, lovely town ... crawling, sprawling ... by the side of a long and splendid curving shore. This sea-town was my world.
The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.
Though lovers be lost love shall not.
Oh, isn't life a terrible thing, thank God?
You wouldn't think such a place as San Francisco could exist. The wonderful sunlight there, the hills, the great bridges, the Pacific at your shoes. Beautiful Chinatown. Every race in the world. The sardine fleets sailing out. The little cable-cars whizzing down The City hills. And all the people are open and friendly.
Join the army and see the next world.
Whatever talents I possess may suddenly diminish or suddenly increase. I can with ease become an ordinary fool. I may be one now. But it doesn't do to upset one's own vanity.
Do not go gentle into the good night. Old age should burn and rage at close of day.
To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.
My education was the liberty I had to read indiscriminately and all the time, with my eyes hanging out.
It is the measure of my individual struggle from darkness toward some measure of light.
If you want a definition of poetry, say: Poetry is what makes me laugh or cry or yawn, what makes my toenails twinkle, what makes me want to do this or that or nothing and let it go at that.
The closer I move To death, one man through his sundered hulks, The louder the sun blooms And the tusked, ramshackling sea exults.
I said some words to the close and holy darkness and then I slept.
Poetry is the rhythmic, inevitably narrative, movement from an overclothed blindness to a naked vision that depends in its intensity on the strength of the labour put into the creation of the poetry.
Come on up, boys -I'm dead.
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