The poet or the revolutionary is there to articulate the necessity, but until the people themselves apprehend it, nothing can happen ... Perhaps it can't be done without the poet, but it certainly can...
Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand.
That is what all poets do: they talk to themselves out loud; and the world overhears them
There are nine and sixty ways of constructing tribal lays and every single one of them is right.
Of our conflicts with others we make rhetoric of our conflicts with ourselves we make poetry.
Before verse can be human again it must learn to be brutal.
Most joyful let the Poet be it is through him that all men see.
A single wire hanger on a nail by itselfIsn't bad though a stack of them on a floorIs too gloomy for words.
I act as the tongue of you,... tied in your mouth . . . . in mine it begins to be loosened.
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
Walking by yourself in the rain is for college kids who think loneliness makes poets.
Don't ask me any questions. I've seen how things that seek their way find their void instead.
For me poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.
Poets aren't very useful because they aren't consumeful or very produceful.
The poet's mind is ... a receptacle for seizing and storing up numberless feelings phrases images which remain there until all the particles which can unite to form a new compound are present toget...
A true poet is one who can appreciate the disciplines and structures of any and all styles of poetry.
When one does something, one must do it wholly and well. Those bastard existences where you sell suet all day and write poetry at night are made for mediocre minds – like those horses that are equally...
It is as if the soul of the continent is weeping. Why does it weep? It weeps for the bones of the buffalo. It weeps for magic that has been forgotten. It weeps for the decline of poets.It weepsfor the...
Poetry is the impish attempt to paint the colour of the wind.
My job as a poet, is not to succumb to despair but to find in words, an antidote for the emptiness of existence.