It Is Brave To Be Involved. To

I Think It Must Be Lonely To Be God. Nobody Loves A Master. No.

I Like The Concentration, The Crush; I Like Working With Language, As Others Like Working With Clay, Or Notes.

I Am A Writer Perhaps Because I Am Not A Talker.

The Forties And Fifties Were Years Of High Poet-incense; The Language-flowers Were Thickly Sweet. Those Flowers Whined And Begged White Folks To Pick Them, To Find Them Lovable. Then The '60s: Independent Fire!

I Believe We Should All Know Each Other, We Human Carriers Of So Many Pleasurable Differences. To Not Know Is To Doubt, To Shrink From, Sidestep Or Destroy.