I Don't Miss Teaching. I'm Learning To

Sink Every Impulse Like A Bolt. Secure The Bastion Of Sensation. Do Not Waver Into Language. Do Not Waver In It.

Hope For A Great Sea-change Timid To Rebuke And Too Petty To Forgive.

Poetry Is Always Slightly Mysterious, And You Wonder What Is Your Relationship To It.

History Says, Don’t Hope On This Side Of The Grave, But Then, Once In A Lifetime The Longed-for Tidal Wave Of Justice Can Rise Up, And Hope And History Rhyme

When I Was Teaching, I Gave A Lot Of My Mind And Anxiety To It. There Was Always Something Clenched And Anxious In Me Until The Classes Were Over.