I Think That The Job Of Poetry,

Sometimes From This Hillside Just After Sunset The Rim Of The Sky Takes On A Tinge Of The Palest Green, Like The Flesh Of A Cucumber When You Peel It Carefully.

I Thought It Was Irrelevant To Talk About What A Wonderful Thing Poetry Was If You Didn't Teach People To Read.

If We Want To Have A Two-class Society And An Unemployed, Welfare-crippled Lower Class That Has No Access To Equality And Educational Opportunity And No Access To Jobs And Is Resentful And Furiously Angry, We Can Have It - That's What We've Been Willing To Pay For So Far.

There's A Good Deal In Pound's And Eliot's Poetry That Stood Up Even Though Their Politics Were Deplorable. Or Pound's Very Deplorable, Eliot's Kind Of Deplorable.

Nostalgia Locates Desire In The Past Where It Suffers No Active Conflict And Can Be Yearned Toward Pleasantly.