Joy Is For The Simple Or The

I Think A Young Poet, Or An Old Poet, For That Matter, Should Try To Produce Something That Pleases Himself Personally, Not Only When He's Written It But A Couple Of Weeks Later. Then He Should See If It Pleases Anyone Else, By Sending It To The Kind Of Magazine He Likes Reading.

I Think We Got Much Better Poetry When It Was All Regarded As Sinful Or Subversive, And You Had To Hide It Under The Cushion When Somebody Came In.

It Becomes Still More Difficult To Find
words At Once True And Kind,
or Not Untrue And Not Unkind.

Sex Means Nothing--just The Moment Of Ecstasy, That Flares And Dies In Minutes.

Spring, Of All Seasons Most Gratuitous, Is Fold Of Untaught Flower, Is Race Of Water, Is Earth's Most Multiple, Excited Daughter; And Those She Has Least Use For See Her Best, Their Paths Grown Craven And Circuitous, Their Visions Mountain-clear, Their Needs Immodest.