But maybe it’s up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it’s never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is always only part of the missing, and writing is the way the poet finds out what it is he found.
I’m afraid we live at the mercy of a power, maybe a God, without mercy. And yet we find it, as I have, from others.
When I first found out that Superman wasn’t real, I was about maybe eight. And I was talking to my mother about it. And she was like, ‘No, no, no. There’s no Superman.’ And I started crying. I really thought he was coming to rescue us. The chaos, the violence, the danger. No hero was coming.
The public is probably more suspicious of poets than women, and maybe for good reason.
Wherever I’ve been, and I’ve been to over 20, maybe 25, countries in Africa, I’ve noticed how their backbone is broken. They don’t have any confidence in themselves. They always think a white man will solve their problems from outside for them.
Those who believe in the importance of serving others should lead the way by fighting against the temptation we all have, and maybe especially as we age, to close in upon ourselves.
My shorthand answer is that I try to write the kind of book that I would like to read. If I can make it clear and interesting and compelling to me, then I hope maybe it will be for the reader.
In all my work, in the movies I write, the lyrics, the poetry, the prose, the essays, I am saying that we may encounter many defeats – maybe it’s imperative that we encounter the defeats – but we are much stronger than we appear to be and maybe much better than we allow ourselves to be. Human beings are more alike than unalike.
A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
To God be humble, to thy friend be kind, and with thy neighbors gladly lend and borrow; His chance tonight, it maybe thine tomorrow.