The Ear Writes My Poems, Not The

Poetry Is Language Surprised In The Act Of Changing Into Meaning.

End With An Image And Don't Explain.

Some Poems Present Themselves As Cliffs That Need To Be Climbed. Others Are So Defensive That When You Approach Their Enclosure You Half Expect To Be Met By A Snarling Dog At The Gate. Still Others Want To Smother You With Their Sticky Charms.

An Old Poet Ought Never To Be Caught With His Technique Showing.

Certainly The Modern Poets I Cherish Most Are Disturbing Spirits; They Do Not Come To Coo.