“We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness. Poets are damned, but they are not blind; they see with the eyes of angels. The poet sees through and all around the horrors he partakes of in the very intimate details of his poem. He avoids nothing but experiences it to the hult. He contains it. Claims it as his own—and, we believe, laughs at it and has the time and affrontery to a love a fellow of his choice and record that love in a well-made poem. Hold back the edges of your gowns, Ladies, we are going through hell.”
— William Carlos Williams (‘Howl’ for Carl Solomon: An Introduction)
