One man's vulgarity is another's lyric.

[O]ne man's vulgarity is another's lyric.

Poetry must have something in it that is barbaric, vast and wild.

Where talent is lacking, anger writes poetry.

What is this poetry ? A mortal mind
Made visible;a caged bird? Nay more:it is a spiritleft behind
Nailed by the piercing word.

You bitch,' he said. 'You rich bitch. That's poetry. I'm full of poetry now. Rot and poetry. Rotten poetry.

"Poetry Is a Destructive Force"

That's what misery is,
Nothing to have at heart.
It is to have or nothing.

It is a thing to have,
A lion, an ox in his breast,
To feel it breathing there.

Corazon, stout dog,
Young ox, bow-legged bear,
He tastes its blood, not spit.

He is like a man
In the body of a violent beast.
Its muscles are his own . . .

The lion sleeps in the sun.
Its nose is on its paws.
It can kill a man.

This poetic nudity within words.

Poetry is man's rebellion against being what he is

... I got to writing poetry out of revenge — self-pity and revenge.

Poetry is an abstraction bloodied.

How deep, how merciless, the love represt,
That robs the silent midnight of its rest;
That sees in gather'd crowds but one alone;
That hears in mingled footsteps only one;
That turns the poet's page, to only find
Some mournful image for itself design'd;
That seeks in music, but the plaining tone
Which secret sorrow whispers is its own!

To find beauty in ugliness is the province of the poet.

The point of recapitulation in the first movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony unleashes one of the most horrifyingly violent episodes in the history of music....The point is not to hold up Beethoven as exceptionally monstrous. The Ninth Symphony is probably our most compelling articulation in music of the contradictory impulses that have organized patriarchal culture since the Enlightenment. Moreover, within the parameters of his own musical compositions, he may be heard as enacting a critique of narrative obligations that is...devastating.