The first task of the poet is to create the person who will write the poems.
The universe is a continuous web. Touch it at any point and the whole web quivers.
Poetry is the enemy of the poem.
Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.
...few young poets [are] testing their poems against the ear. They're writing for the page, and the page, let me tell you, is a cold bed.
One critic wrote . . . that my poems sounded as though they had been translated from the Hungarian. I don't know why, but somehow that made me feel quite lighthearted.