Twentieth-century American poetry has been one of the glories of modern literature.

For the mind and the imagination, bookstores aren't enough, college courses aren't enough, the Internet isn't enough. Those resources are all governed by the tastes and needs of the moment. Only libraries take the long view, quietly shelving the unused with the used, knowing that one of these days the two categories will be reversed by a student's discovery of those hitherto undisturbed volumes whose contents will unsettle the learned world.

A poem needs imaginative rhythms as well as imaginative transformation of content.

The non-artists among us are always terribly busy, but finally disappear without a trace.

You don’t read or overhear the voice in the poem, you are the voice in the poem.

For the critic, criticism is a form of natural self-expression, as poetry is to the poet. So, for a critic, criticism is a true thing. Criticism isn’t written for poets, it’s written for other readers. One hopes it is true for other readers if it’s true for oneself.

Soul or Intelligence destined to possess the sense of Identity.