About Franz Wright: Franz Wright was an American poet. He and his father James Wright are the only parent/child pair to have won the Pulitzer Prize in the same category.
literature will lose, sunlight will win, don't worry.
Poem in other words may or may not result from inspiration but must (in reader and author alike) produce it--
I basked in you; I loved you, helplessly, with a boundless tongue-tied love. And death doesn't prevent me from loving you. Besides, in my opinion you aren't dead. (I know dead people, and you are not dead.)
This is no occupation for an adult who can look other adults in the eye, carry his own weight, and count himself one of them.
What I myself experience is indescribable gratitude in the face of God's perpetual and preemptive love, a love which is not contingent upon requital or even belief in His existence.
I've always envied people who compose music or paint, because they don't have to be bothered with the sort of crude mess that language normally is, in everyday life and in the way we use it.
We know there are poets who are chosen: by what or whom, we no more know than what lies beyond our final breath, or what caused a certain action which resulted in the fulfillment or the desecration and collapse of what we most cared for in life.
It's hard for me to grasp that I might somehow be my father's equal in any way.
I am in no way different from anyone else, that my predicament, my sense of aloneness or isolation may be precisely what unites me with everyone.
I wish my father could be around.
There are people who recall my father as a saint and a monster. I'm quite sure I will share the same fate.
I write and have done so primarily for personal pleasure.
For about twenty years, if I managed to write ten or twelve poems in a year; I considered that a pretty successful year, but I wrote 'The Beforelife' within a year.
When I'm in certain moods, a conversation will start up in my head, and suddenly I'll realize that the language has reached a very high and interesting level, and then lines and stanzas will just kind of appear, full-blown.
The poetic prose that most interests me is that of Henri Michaux.
Beckett's 'Stories and Texts for Nothing' is probably my favorite book.
I used to comfort myself with the idea of a book with serrated, detachable pages, so that you could read the thing the way it came and then shuffle the pages, like a giant deck of cards, and read the book in an entirely different order. It would be a...
If only I could tell someone. The humiliation I go through when I think of my past can only be described as grace. We are created by being destroyed.
Thank You for letting me live for a little as one of the sane; thank You for letting me know what this is like. Thank You for letting me look at your frightening blue sky without fear, and your terrible world without terror, and your loveless psychot...
Furless now, upright, My banished and experimental child You said, though your own heart condemn you I do not condemn you.
