It is fatal to one's artistic life to talk about something that is in process.

Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer.

Writing poetry is a process of discovery...you can smell the poem before you see it....Like some animal.

Peace as a positive condition of society, not merely as an interim between wars, is something so unknown that it casts no images on the mind's screen.

The poem has a social effect of some kind whether or not the poet wills it to have. It has a kenetic force, it sets in motion...elements in the reader that would otherwise remain stagnant.

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night.