I Dance/for The Joy Of

A Poet Needs To Keep His Wilderness Alive Inside Him. To Remain A Poet After Forty Requires An Awareness Of Your Darkest Africa, That Part Of Yourself That Will Never Be Tamed.

One Critic Wrote . . . That My Poems Sounded As Though They Had Been Translated From The Hungarian. I Don't Know Why, But Somehow That Made Me Feel Quite Lighthearted.

Poetry Is The Enemy Of The Poem.

The Heart Breaks And Breaks And Lives By Breaking It Is Necessary To Go Through Dark And Deeper Dark And Not To Turn

The Poem In The Head Is Always Perfect. Resistance Begins When You Try To Convert It Into Language.