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There is a grace of life which is still yours, my dear Europe.
– Charles Olson
We all want what’s been suddenly disallowed.
I’m sorry, but I was born with a towel on my head.
I was playing catch with the European audience.
Atlantis will rise again.
You can do anything, literally, right? That’s one of the exciting possibilities of the present.
The heroes of the present will retreat to the imitation they are anyhow.
I sound like Homer. I mean Winslow Homer.
Forgive me if I sleep until I wake up.
The poem, for me, is simply the first sound realized in the modality of being.
I hope you’re representing the devil’s advocate.
I don’t live for poetry. I live far more than anybody else does.
Fact is based upon vulgar matter.
I remember way back when I was young, 10 years ago.
You don’t help people in your poems. I’ve been trying to help people all my life – that’s my trouble.
We’re all moving, moving, moving. Isn’t it nice?
I defer to all these other American poets who, for some reason, I both envy and admire.
This morning of the small snow I count the blessings, the leak in the faucet which makes of the sink time, the drop of the water on water.
This country has been unconscious, and it’s got to awake. That’s my belief.
You can read everybody. It’s not even interesting to tell the truth because to some extent it’s false.
When will government cease being a nuisance to everybody?
I am happy to have some friends here in the kitchen.
I’m trying to climb up both walls at once.
I’m one of the cliches that has grown up.