Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one’s soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you – like music to the musician or Marxism to the Communist – or else it is nothing, an empty, formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Poetry is an act of peace. Peace goes into the making of a poet as flour goes into the making of bread.[La poesía es siempre un acto de paz. El poeta nace de la paz como el pan nace de la harina.]
My poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.[Mi poesia nacid entre el cerro y el rio, tomé la voz de la Iluvia, se impregno de los bosques tal como la madera.]
It may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves, and an evasion of the visible and sensible world.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?