Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.
For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.
What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.