I wanted to be calm, like a mound with all its cities destroyed, and tranquil, like a full cemetery.

Tonight I think again of many days that are sacrificed for one night of love. Of the waste and the fruit of the waste, of plenty and of fire. And how painlessly-time.

The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day of work. Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits out of his hat, he drew love from his small body.

And as we stray further from love, we multiply the words. Had we remained together we could have become a silence.

I try to stay a civilian, to live as a human, not as a poet.

What are you going to do now? You'll collect loves like stamps. You've got doubles and no one will trade with you. And you've got damaged ones.

My poems are political in the deeper sense of the word. Political means to live in your time, to be a man of your time.