“I couldn’t even picture Mavis’s face anymore. It was sad. She was being erased. I wanted to put my finger on her forehead, but there was nothing there.” — James Tate Copy Share Image
“When one is highly alert to language, then nearly everything begs to be a poem.” — James Tate Copy Share Image
William Waltz will take me through 'the buzz and clamor in a forest of hearts.' Adventures in the Lost Interiors of America is an… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“I couldn’t even picture Mavis’s face anymore. It was sad. She was being erased. I wanted to put my finger on her forehead, but… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“They didn't have much trouble teaching the ape to write poems: first they strapped him into a chair, then tied the pencil around his… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“I was outside St. Cecelia's Rectory smoking a cigarette when a goat appeared beside me. It was mostly black and white, with a little… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“for my father, 1922-1944 Your face did not rot like the others--the co-pilot, for example, I saw him yesterday. His face is corn- mush:… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“I am not a part of this home any longer. I am a tiny thing created by indifferent scientists. I am an experiment, a… — James Tate Copy Share Image
“Everybody who was anybody seemed to be going to a meeting, the glowworm, who was a solipsist, the lemur who was not.” — James Tate Copy Share Image
