The World Makes Liars Of Us All.

But I Remember Being Told That The Truth Does Not Depend On Being Believed.

Poetry And Prose Are Of Equal Importance To Me As A Reader, And There Doesn't Seem To Be Much Difference In My Own Writing.

The War Tried To Kill Us In The Spring. As Grass Greened The Plains Of Nineveh And The Weather Warmed, We Patrolled The Low-slung Hills Beyond The Cities And Towns. We Moved Over Them And Through The Tall Grass On Faith, Kneading Paths Into The Windswept Growth Like Pioneers. While We Slept, The War Rubbed Its Thousand Ribs Against The Ground In Prayer.

There Is A Sharp Distinction Between What Is Remembered, What Is Told And What Is True.

There's Something Immediate About The Experience Of Reading A Poem - Whether It's The Music Or Some Other Element Of It - That Just Seems To Access Another Part Of The Brain. You Know, Charles Olson Talks About This Transfer Of Energy That Happens Between The Writer And The Reader Of The Poem. I Guess There's Something Essential To Me About Acknowledging Upfront The Immensity Of It - The Difficulty Of It - And Even Allowing That To Be The Subject.