When you write it doesn't occur to you that somebody could think different from what you do. — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Occasionally a student writer comes up with something really beautiful and moving, and you won't know for years if it was an… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
I do insist on making what I hope is sense so there's always a coherent narrative or argument that the reader can… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
The only way out is the way through, just as you cannot escape death except by dying. Being unable to write, you… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Writing is like the relationship with your bowels. First you can, then you can't. Finally, you must. Only then should you reach… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
When Robert Frost was alive, I was known as the other new England poet, which is to be barely known at all. — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
I've never read a political poem that's accomplished anything. Poetry makes things happen, but rarely what the poet wants. — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
When you write it doesn't occur to you that somebody could think different from what you do. — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Both poet and painter want to reach the silence behind the language, the silence within the language. Both painter and poet want their work… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Occasionally a student writer comes up with something really beautiful and moving, and you won't know for years if it was an accident or… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
It may be said that poems are in one way like icebergs: only about a third of their bulk appears above the surface of… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Obvious enough that generalities work to protect the mind from the great outdoors; is it possible that this was in fact their first purpose? — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
When in still air and still in summertime A leaf has had enough of this, it seems To make up its mind to go;… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Robert Frost had always said you mustn't think of the last line first, or it's only a fake poem, not a real one. I'm… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
Till I, high in the tower of my time Among familiar ruins, began to cry For accident, sickness, justice, war and crime, Because all… — Howard Nemerov Copy Share Image
