Silly girls your heads full of boys

One listens to a piece of great music, say, and feels deeply moved by it, and wants to put this feeling into words, but it can't be put into words. That's what - the music has already supplied the meaning, and words will just be superfluous after that. But it's that kind of verbal meaning that can't be verbalized that I try to get at in poetry.

I often wonder if I am suffering from some mental dysfunction because of how weird and baffling my poetry seems to so many people and sometimes to me too.

I feel that poetry is going on all the time inside, an underground stream.

There is the view that poetry should improve your life. I think people confuse it with the Salvation Army.

The soul establishes itself. But how far can it swim out through the eyes And still return safely to its nest?

The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes