I’m not sure about prizes. I don’t know how far you can seriously raise public consciousness about poetry. Having a ‘National Poetry Day,’ like a ‘No Smoking Day,’ is just shelving the problem. Things which should by rights be every day are not best served by these things.
Whereas with poetry no one has to show anybody really, and you don’t have to tell anyone you’re doing it.
We shouldn’t have got married, really. Shouldn’t have got married. Too young. Not ready for it.
Our life here on Earth has as its purpose precisely to prepare for our eternal happiness. This world is a large womb. It is a ‘test’ as all opportunities are tests.
It’s always good to show that poetry isn’t the little depressed lyric people believe it to be, that it’s something bigger.
In the battle between the sexes, men and women will go practically to the end of the earth in illogical, irrational ways to give each other pain.
From 1961 to 1964, I was fortunate enough to work at a think tank in the Kenwood neighborhood of Chicago. As a writer and editor, I reported in a publication about the thinkers. Our offices were in a former mansion; I worked in what had been the ballroom. As I sat typing my copy, I imagined the dancers waltzing.
The Metropolitan Opera, of course, is the gold standard in opera. The Met experience includes the huge stage, the vast audience, the elaborate sets. Anyone who saw ‘Faust’ there – I did – knows exactly what hell is like, complete with fire, smoke and terror.
God’s interventions are miracles: events that cannot happen by merely natural agents but only by a supernatural agent. They no more interfere with our free will than natural events like earthquakes. We choose how to respond to them.
The irony is that the more we fight age, the more it shows. Paint on a 50-year-old face brings to mind a Gilbert and Sullivan comic figure. Smooth the cheeks, and suddenly the ear lobes and hands look out of place. Do we run around in October, painting the gold leaves green?