A Poet Needs To Keep His Wilderness

One Critic Wrote . . . That My Poems Sounded As Though They Had Been Translated From The Hungarian. I Don't Know Why, But Somehow That Made Me Feel Quite Lighthearted.

The Unconscious Creates, The Ego Edits.

I Want To Write Poems That Are Natural, Luminous, Deep, Spare. I Dream Of An Art So Transparent That You Can Look Through And See The World.

My Mother Never Forgave My Father

A Longing For The Dance Stirs In The Buried Life.