Do You Know How It

For A Country Without A Past Is Nothing, A Word That, Hardly Spoken, Loses Its Meaning, A Perishable Wall Destroyed By Flame, An Echo Of Animal Emotions.

I Have Defined Poetry As A 'passionate Pursuit Of The Real.

A True Opium Of The People Is A Belief In Nothingness After Death.

We Have Become Indifferent To Content, And React, Not Even To Form, But To Technique, To Technical Efficiency Itself.

The Living Owe It To Those Who No Longer Can Speak To Tell Their Story For Them.