Words bother me. I think it is why I am a poet. I keep trying to force myself to speak of the things that remain mute inside. My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable. To make an object out of chaos...To say what? a final cry into the void
Dennis Farrell, August 2, 1963
published in A Self-Portrait in Letters
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