The Lord Survives The Rainbow Of His

Poetry Is Not The Record Of An Event: It Is An Event.

Talking About The Past Is Like A Cat's Trying To Explain Climbing Down A Ladder.

I Saw The Spiders Marching Through The Air, Swimming From Tree To Tree That Mildewed Day In Latter August When The Hay Came Creaking To The Barn.

History Has To Live With What Was Here, Clutching And Close To Fumbling All We Had - It Is So Dull And Gruesome How We Die, Unlike Writing, Life Never Finishes.

Most Poetry Is Very Formal, But When A Modern Poet Is Formal He Gets More Attention For It Than Old Poets Did.