If you write a poem that escapes the mass-hypnosis of 19th century slick-soft poesy they think that you write badly because you do not sound right. They want to hear what they have always heard. But they forget that it takes 5 or 6 good men every century to push the thing ahead out of staleness and death. I am not saying that I am one of these men but I am sure as hell saying I am not one of the others. Which leaves me hanging—OUTSIDE.
