Everywhere, giant finned cars nose forward like fish; a savage servility slides by on grease.

Most poetry is very formal, but when a modern poet is formal he gets more attention for it than old poets did.

We are all old-timers, each of us holds a locked razor.

And blue-lung'd combers lumbered to the kill.

I'm sure that writing isn't a craft, that is, something for which you learn the skills and go on turning out. It must come from some deep impulse, deep inspiration. That can't be taught, it can't be what you use in teaching.

Middle Age At forty-five, What next, what next? At every corner, I meet my Father, My age, still alive.

The world is absolutely out of control now and is not going to be saved by any reason or unreason.