Don't Be Surprised If I Demur, For,

Publication Is Rather Like Pushing The Boat Out; Then The Boat/book Turns Into A Melting Ice Floe And You Have To Conjure A Second Boat Which Again Turns Into A Melting Floe Under Your Feet. All The Stepping Stones That You Conjure Disappear Under The Water Behind You.

A Public Expectation, It Has To Be Said, Not Of Poetry As Such But Of Political Positions Variously Approvable By Mutually Disapproving Groups.

You Had To Come Back To Learn How To Lose Yourself, To Be Pilot And Stray-witch, Hansel And Gretel In One.

History Says, Don’t Hope On This Side Of The Grave, But Then, Once In A Lifetime The Longed-for Tidal Wave Of Justice Can Rise Up, And Hope And History Rhyme

I Have Always Thought Of Poems As Stepping Stones In One's Own Sense Of Oneself. Every Now And Again, You Write A Poem That Gives You Self-respect And Steadies Your Going A Little Bit Farther Out In The Stream. At The Same Time, You Have To Conjure The Next Stepping Stone Because The Stream, We Hope, Keeps Flowing.