Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I believe the poet shouldn't be in the poem at all except as a lens or as ears.
The head never rules the heart, but just becomes its partner in crime.
The beautiful heroine might be thinking, How long must I bury my face on this wretched man's shoulder? Such is not the always the case, but quite often it is.
Poets don't draw. They unravel their handwriting and then tie it up again, but differently.
If I'm the people's poet, then I ought to be in people's hands - and, I hope, in their heart.
Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold.
It hardly seems worthwhile to point out the shortsightedness of those practitioners who would have us believe that the form of the poem is merely its shape.
The heart, not the head, must be the guide.
The woman poet must be either a sexless, reclusive eccentric, with nothing to say specifically to women, or a brilliant, tragic, tortured suicide.
Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.