I always like walking in the rain, so no one can see me crying.
Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.
Only truthful hands write true poems. I cannot see any basic difference between a handshake and a poem.
A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the-surely not always strong-hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on the shoreline of the heart. In this way, too, poems are en route: they are headed towards. Toward what? Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality. Such realities are, I think, at stake in a poem.
Reality is not simply there, it does not simply exist: it must be sought out and won.
German poetry is going in a very different direction from French poetry. . . . Its language has become more sober, more factual. It distrusts "beauty. " It tries to be truthful.
A nothing we were, are, shall remain, flowering: the nothing--, the no one's rose.
Why should I limit myself to only one woman when I can have as many women as I want?
I wouldn't touch Chimbonda with a barn door
So may he rest, his faults lie gently on him!
I think the most extraordinary thing about fans is the level of excellence that they show in the work that they do. I mean, if you go onto the internet and see some of the fan videos that have been put together, they're just extraordinary; they could be programmes in their own right.