Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.
In their effort to divorce language and experience, deconstructionist critics remind me of middle-class parents who do not allow their children to play in the street.
For Emily Dickinson every philosophical idea was a potential lover. Metaphysics is the realm of eternal seduction of the spirit by ideas.
Insomnia is an all-night travel agency with posters advertising faraway places.
Are Russian cannibals worse than the English? Of course. The English eat only the feet, the Russians the soul. The soul is a mirage, I told Anna Alexandrovna, but she went on eating mine anyway.
The ambition of much of today's literary theory seems to be to find ways to read literature without imagination.
The idea is to spin the wheel of metaphors and images until sparks of associations begin to fly for the reader.
It is the desire for irreverence as much as anything else that brought me first to poetry. The need to make fun of authority, break taboos, celebrate the body and its functions, claim that one has see...
A true confession: I believe in a soluble fish.
Like many others, I grew up in an age that preached liberty and built slave camps.
One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.
Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them.
It was only the sea sounding wearyAfter so many lifetimesOf pretending to be rushing off somewhereAnd never getting anywhere.
Making art in America is about saving one's soul.
Thoreau loved ants. He'd meet one in the morning and spend the whole day talking to him.
The time of minor poets is coming. Good-by Whitman, Dickinson, Frost. Welcome you whose fame will never reach beyond your closest family, and perhaps one or two good friends gathered after dinner over...
يخطو الميت نازلا من على المقصلة. يحمل تحت ذراعه رأسه الذبيح.شجر التفاح مُزهر. والميت يشق طريقه إلى حانة القرية والجميع يشاهدون. هنالك يسحب كرسياً ويجلس جنب منضدة ويطلب زجاجتي بيرة, واحدةً له وواحدةً ل...
While you sitLike a rain puddle in hell
Silence is the only language god speaks.
Immigration, exile, being uprooted and made a pariah may be the most effective way yet devised to impress on an individual the arbitrary nature of his or her own existence. Who needed a shrink of a gu...