Why has our poetry eschewed The rapture and response of food? What hymns are sung, what praises said For home-made miracles of bread?
She has something to say about what life is like-which is all we ask of poetry.
Write out of love, write out of instinct, write out of reason. But always for money.
Poetry is the power of defining the indefinable in terms of the unforgettable.
Life, alas, is very drear. Up with the glass! Down with the beer!
From compromise and things half done, Keep me with stern and stubborn pride; And when at last the fight is won, God, keep me still unsatisfied.