I Didn't Choose Poetry: Poetry Chose Me.

Here Is An Unfenced Existance

Novels Seem To Me To Be Richer, Broader, Deeper, More Enjoyable Than Poems.

But Superstition, Like Belief, Must Die.

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.

A Writer Once Said To Me, If You Ever Go To America, Go Either To The East Coast Or The West Coast: The Rest Is A Desert Full Of Bigots. That's What I Think I'd Like . . . A Version Of Pastoral.