INT: Do you read much contemporary poetry? W.S: do read a lot of contemporary poetry, but it's sort of like nibbling olives or something. INT: Which contemporary poets do you feel some sort of affinity with? W.S: like Thomas Hardy and feel much more affinity with him than with any contemporary poet can think of now ... of course he was almost con temporary ... he died in the late 1920's. Thomas Hardy ... To many he seems kind of pessimistic, but get a kind of feeling of elation out of Hardy . . . you know, if human beings inhabit that kind of world it's not their fault. And besides, just follow his sort of totemistic or feeling of natural influences way of living. INT: You said you liked Hardy by sympathy. recall reading somewhere that you said you liked Yeats, but had no sympathy for him. W.S: Yes, that's true. Yeats seems foreign to me. . . . I'm excited a lot of those violent encounters of images and so on, that he cultivated in his mind, but that kind of recklessness with images for the sake of firework displays in poetry is just foreign to my nature. It's like visiting a quaint and odd per son . . . but read Hardy's poems, keep having that huh-huh, yes feeling. The I understand feeling. INT: When did you first realize that you wanted to become a W.S: I've thought about that, and sort of reversed it. My question is when did other people give up the idea of being a poet? You know, we are kids we make up things, we write, and for me the puzzle is not that some people are still writing, the real question is why did the other people stop? INT: Do you think that getting to know a man through his poems is possible? W.S: It seems to me that poems, and other kinds of art works, are disguises. don't mean deliberate disguises, but they are created following out hunches that are not at all ones that are necessarily central feelings, or durable commitments, but just opportunities. At least write, feel like the kind of person who is ready to try all sorts of things. INT: So you think then that even reading a great deal of a writer may not bring us close to him as a man? W.S: Yes, what we learn is what they've written; but what they are is what they haven't yet written. What they are is sort of why they wrote it. A poem is not a direct revealing of a person. ... In my way of writing I've compared it to Daniel Boone going over into Kentucky and finding things . . . Daniel Boone is not Kentucky . . .