Mark Saba
fiction / poetry / nonfiction / art
Poets write for no defensible reason. Not for money, or religion, or bravado, or fame. Not to win a Pulitzer prize. Not to win love, affection, or forgiveness. Not to get back at life for dishing up misfortunes. Not to understand oneself. Not to understand others. A poet, very simply, is furiously and viciously in love. He wants to find out why he cannot help loving so much that it draws the life force from him. He is self-destructing, loving to his death. Poetry is the record of this event.
