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

The artistic reward for refuting the received national tradition is liberation. The price is homelessness. Interior exile.

One opinion I share with the Dadaists is that art-making presupposes a revolutionary state of mind. Assimilating the practice into commodity or symbol of status nullifies its fundamental aims; therefore at the center of my own adherence to to this ranginess in taste is that it doesn't add up to membership in a private club. The differences choose me. There are so many approaches, so many innovative moves, so many oddly shaped ears in the field; may they never sing in unison.

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.

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.

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

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