If You Start With A Bang, You

I Don't Believe One Grows Older. I Think That What Happens Early On In Life Is That At A Certain Age One Stands Still And Stagnates.

You Gave Me Hyacinths First A Year Ago; They Called Me The Hyacinth Girl.' —yet When We Came Back, Late, From The Hyacinth Garden, Your Arms Full, And Your Hair Wet, I Could Not Speak, And My Eyes Failed, I Was Neither Living Nor Dead, And I Knew Nothing, Looking Into The Heart Of Light, The Silence. Od' Und Leer Das Meer.

Poetry Is A Mug's Game.

Poets In Our Civilization, As It Exists At Present, Must Be Difficult...the Poet Must Become More And More Comprehensive, More Allusive, More Indirect, In Order To Force, To Dislocate If Necessary, Language Into Its Meaning.

Talent Imitates, But Genius Steals.