I have always intended to live forever; but not until now, to live now.
Is there a mechanism of death, that so mutilates existence no one, gets over it not even the dead?
The first step in the journey is to lose your way.
There are two versions to every poem – the crying version and the straight version
Thats the way it is with poetry: When it is incomprehensible it seems profound, and when you understand it, it is only ridiculous.
To me, poetry is somebody standing up, so to speak, and saying, with as little concealment as possible, what it is for him or her to be on earth at this moment