I woke to the sound of rain.

Feel oddly barren. My sickness is when words draw in their horns and the physical world refuses to be ordered, recreated, arranged and selected. I am a victim of it then, not a master.

They had to call and callAnd pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.--From the poem 'Lady Lazarus', written 23-29 October 1962.

Kiss me and you will see how important I am.

For me poetry is an evasion of the real job of writing prose.

Amazing how money would simplify problems like ours. We wouldn't go wild at all, but write & travel & study all of our lives - which I hope we do anyway. And have a house apart, by the side of no road, with country about & a study & walls of bookcases.