The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

Mirrors Should Reflect A Little Before Throwing Back Images.

A Child's Reaction To This Type Of Calamity Is Twofold And Extreme. Not Knowing How Deeply, Powerfully, Life Drops Anchor Into Its Vast Sources Of Recuperation, He Is Bound To Envisage, At Once, The Very Worst; Yet At The Same Time, Because Of His Inability To Imagine Death, The Worst Remains Totally Unreal To Him. Gerard Went On Repeating: "paul's Dying; Paul's Going To Die"' But He Did Not Believe It. Paul's Death Would Be Part Of The Dream, A Dream Of Snow, Of Journeying Forever.

Enough Of Clouds, Waves, Aquariums, Water-sprites And Nocturnal Scents; What We Need Is Music Of The Earth, Everyday Music..music One Can Live In Like A House.

Be A Constant Outrage To Modesty There Is Nothing To Fear: Modesty Is Exercised Only Among The Blind.

Poetry, Being Elegance Itself, Cannot Hope To Achieve Visibility... It Insists On Living Its Own Life.