If to serenade almost to man Is to miss, by that, things as they are, Say that it is the serenade Of a man that plays a blue guitar.

The man bent over his guitar, A shearsman of sorts. The day was green. They said, 'You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they are.' The man replied…

So that's life, then: things are they are? It picks its way on the blue guitar. A million people on one string? And all their manner in the thing, And all thei…

The sun, that brave man, Comes through boughs that lie in wait, That brave man. Green and gloomy eyes In dark forms of the grass Run away. The good stars, Pale…

...and what shall I love if not the enigma.

We are at the classic-romantic barrier now, where on one side we see a cycle as it appears immediately... and this is an important way of seeing it... and wher…

Nothing exists until or unless it is observed. An artist is making something exist by observing it. And his hope for other people is that they will also make i…