The glacier knocks in the cupboard, The desert sighs in the bed, And the crack in the teacup opens A lane to the land of the dead.
Success is counted sweetest By those who ne'er succeed. To comprehend a nectar Requires sorest need.
...a poem is just a little machine for remembering itself
Look around - there's only one thing of danger for you here - poetry
I think poetry should be alive. You should be able to dance it.
Someone says: 'Whom do you write for?' I reply: 'Do you read me?' If they say 'yes', I say, 'Do you like it?' If they say 'No,' then I say, 'I don't write for you'.
From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
The day he moved out was terrible - that evening she went through hell. His absence wasn't a problem but the corkscrew had gone as well.
Truly fine poetry must be read aloud. A good poem does not allow itself to be read in a low voice or silently. If we can read it silently, it is not a valid poem: a poem demands pronunciation. Poetry always remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art. It remembers that it was first song.
I have taken to my bed and my bed has taken to me We're getting married in the spring, How happy we shall be. We'll raise lots of little bunks, a sleeping bag or two Take my advice: find a bed that's nice, lie down and say 'I love you'