The first question at that time in poetry was simply the question of honesty, of sincerity.
The self is no mystery, the mystery is / That there is something for us to stand on
There are situations which cannot honorably be met by art.
Things explain each other, not themselves.
Clarity, clarity, surely clarity is the most beautiful thing in the world, A limited, limiting clarity I have not and never did have any motive of poetry But to achieve clarity.
Those who are not very concerned with art want poems or pictures to record for them something they already know - as one might want a picture of a place he loves.