In Our Rhythm Of Earthly Life We

So First, Your Memory I'll Jog, And Say: A Cat Is Not A Dog

He Had A Mind So Fine That No Idea Could Violate It

Honest Criticism And Sensitive Appreciation Are Directed Not Upon The Poet But Upon The Poetry.

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.

In Our Rhythm Of Earthly Life We Tire Of Light. We Are Glad When The Day Ends, When The Play Ends; And Ecstasy Is Too Much Pain.