A great many people seem to think writing poetry is worthwhile, even though it pays next to nothing and is not as widely read as it should be.

I am not concerned with truth, nor with conventional notions of what is beautiful.

I don't really think it will make much difference to me when I'm dead whether I'm read or not . . . just as whether I'm dead or not won't mean much to me when I'm dead.

These wrinkles are nothing These gray hairs are nothing, This stomach which sags with old food, these bruised and swollen ankles, my darkening brain, they are nothing. I am the same boy my mother used to kiss.

And at least in poetry you should feel free to lie. That is, not to lie, but to imagine what you want, to follow the direction of the poem.

No voice comes from outer space, from the folds of dust and carpets of wind to tell us that this is the way it was meant to happen, that if only we knew how long the ruins would last we would never complain.

A great many people seem to think writing poetry is worthwhile, even though it pays next to nothing and is not as widely read as it should be.