It's a hard life. . . but if I could, I would do it all again.
I wish I wrote drafts and then revised them, but I don't. What I do is I seem to revise as I go.
Reading poetry is an adventure in renewal, a creative act, a perpetual beginning, a rebirth of wonder.
Language is an impure medium. Speech is public property and words are the soiled products, not of nature, but of society, which circulates and uses them for a thousand different ends.
Poetry connects us to what is deepest in ourselves. It gives us access to our own feelings, which are often shadowy, and engages us in the art of making meaning. It widens the space of our inner lives. It is a magical, mysterious, inexplicable (though not incomprehensible) event in language.
I was surprised recently to find a book called "Poetry in Persons" that's coming out about visit to poets to a class that Pearl London gave.
Poetry never loses its appeal. Sometimes its audience wanes and sometimes it swells like a wave. But the essential mystery of being human is always going to engage and compel us. We're involved in a mystery. Poetry uses words to put us in touch with that mystery. We're always going to need it.
I feel like my honesty gives people the freedom to talk about things they wouldn't otherwise.
The essential is invisible to the eyes.
I think one reason TV has always done well is because there is something comforting where you kind of know what you're going to be taken through.
All I need to do to stay healthy is look at my three boys.