Poetry is the language of intensity. Because we are going to die, an expression of intensity is justified.

Uniformity, in its motives, its goals, its far-ranging consequences, is the natural enemy of poetry, not to mention the enemy of trees, the soil, the exemplary life therein.

Poetry is the language of intensity. Because we are going to die, an expression of intensity is justified.

I am suggesting that the radical of poetry lies not in the resolution of doubts but in their proliferation

Almost none of the poetries I admire stick to their labels, native or adopted ones. Rather, they are vagrant in their identifications. Tramp poets, there you go, a new label for those with unstable allegiances.

Poetry is a necessity of life.

Poetry seems especially like nothing else so much as itself. Poetry is not like, it is the very lining of the inner life.