My Mother Carried On And

I Find You In These Tears, Few, Useless And Here At Last. Don't Come Back.

My Temperament Is Not Geared To That Of A Novelist.

I Believed Even Then That If I Could Transform My Experience Into Poetry I Would Give It The Value And Dignity It Did Not Begin To Possess On Its Own. I Thought Too That If I Could Write About It I Could Come To Understand It; I Believed That If I Could Understand My Life—or At Least The Part My Work Played In It—i Could Embrace It With Some Degree Of Joy, An Element Conspicuously Missing From My Life.

I Listen To Jazz About Three Hours A Day. I Love Louis Armstrong.

I Write What's Given Me To Write.