The First Year Was Like

Sometimes A Musical Phrase Would Perfectly Sum Up The Mood Of A Moment. One Of Those Lovelorn Sonatas For Wind Instruments Was Riding Past On A Solemn White Horse. Everybody Wondered Who The New Arrival Was.

I Would Like To Please The Reader, And I Think That Surprise Has To Be An Element Of This, And That May Necessitate A Certain Amount Of Teasing. To Shock The Reader Is Something Else Again. That Has To Be Handled With Great Care If You're Not Going To Alienate And Hurt Him, And I'm Firmly Against That, Just As I Disapprove Of People Who Dress With That In Mind - Dye Their Hair Blue And Stick Safety Pins Through Their Noses And So On.

Silly Girls Your Heads Full Of Boys

We Are Prisoners Of The World's Demented Sink. The Soft Enchantments Of Our Years Of Innocence Are Harvested By Accredited Experience Our Fondest Memories Soon Turn To Poison And Only Oblivion Remains In Season.

I Don't Find Any Direct Statements In Life. My Poetry Imitates Or Reproduces The Way Knowledge Or Awareness Come To Me, Which Is By Fits And Starts And By Indirection. I Don't Think Poetry Arranged In Neat Patterns Would Reflect That Situation. My Poetry Is Disjunct, But Then So Is Life.