In every house of marriage there's room for an interpreter.
The first task of the poet is to create the person who will write the poems.
I dance/for the joy of surviving, at the edge of the road.
The poem in the head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language.
I dropped my hoe and ran into the house and started to write this poem, 'End of Summer.’ It began as a celebration of wild geese. Eventually the geese flew out of the poem, but I like to think they left behind the sound of their beating wings.
Not that you need to be a saint to have visions worth talking about. The most effective prescription, I suspect, is to be a disciplined sinner. Perfection, as Valery noted, is work.