Kenneth Rexroth
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He wrote poetry of love glimpsed as a mystery from within the teeth of sex.
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He wrote poetry of love glimpsed as a mystery from within the teeth of sex.
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The life of ROBERT GRAVES (1895–1985) is as an impenetrable forest, tree ravaging tree in a primordial war of the word. Himself the subject of more books than most authors can reasonably hope to write, […]
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Before we blamed our madness on nature, we drove each other crazy.
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He searched far and wide for dialectical synthesis, only to reject it.
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To abandon Earth’s succor for the theatre of the clouds.
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