Poetry Is A Very Complex Art.... It

Humanity Is The Rich Effluvium, It Is The Waste And The Manure And The Soil, And From It Grows The Tree Of The Arts.

Utter Originality Is, Of Course, Out Of The Question.

A Civilized Man Is One Who Will Give A Serious Answer To A Serious Question. Civilization Itself Is A Certain Sane Balance Of Values.

Quiet This Metal! Let The Manes Put Off Their Terror, Let Them Put Off Their Aqueous Bodies With Fire. Let Them Assume The Milk-white Bodies Of Agate. Let Them Draw Together The Bones Of The Metal.

Poetry Is A Language Pared Down To Its Essentials.