experience and knowledge of the form to bear on making this poem feel as if it just rolled out of his mouth. "Oh life! Can you blame me/for making a scene?" And he does make a scene--the breeze and the river and the color of the fields, the wet hair of women, the tropical squalls, our confusion of the government with our own feelings about our parents, our messy tragedies in love. Pay attention, pay attention! he says, like a dog tied to a chain and barking its head off. This is our life!
from Fleda Brown: Traverse City Record-Eagle: On Poetry: Taking poems personally
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