Reality is a cliché from which we escape by metaphor.
I am what is around me.
in the presence of extraordinary actuality, consciousness takes the place of imagination.
It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.
It gives a man character as a poet to have a daily contact with a job. I doubt whether I've lost a thing by leading an exceedingly regular and disciplined life.
I know noble accents And lucid, inescapable rhythms; But I know, too, That the blackbird is involved In what I know.