So much of my poetry begins with something that I can describe in visual terms, so thinking about distance, thinking about how life begins and what might be watching us.
Poetry criticism at its worst today is mean in spirit and spiteful in intent, as if determined to inflict the wound that will spur the artist to new heights if it does not cripple him or her.
The older I’ve got the less I find myself going back and re-reading or really reading new fiction or poetry.
To feel most beautifully alive means to be reading something beautiful, ready always to apprehend in the flow of language the sudden flash of poetry.
Poetry is an art, and chief of the fine art the easiest to dabble in, the hardest in which to reach true excellence.