I remember in my early 20s when I felt I couldn't live past 30. I was learning how to write. I had a lot of hard work ahead of me.

So I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them: Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.

And even now she beats her head against the bars in the same old way and wonders if there is a bigger place the railroads run to from Chicago where maybe there is romance and big things and real dreams that never go smash.

One of the greatest necessities in America is to discover creative solitude.

Poetry is an art practiced with the terribly plastic material of human language.

A tough will counts. So does desire.So does a rich soft wanting.Without rich wanting nothing arrives.

Poetry is a kinetic arrangement of static syllables.