I believe that the critical writings of poets, of which in the past there have been some very distinguished examples, owe a great deal of their interest to the fact that the poet, at the back of his mind, if not as his ostensible purpose, is always trying to defend the kind of poetry he is writing, or to formulate the kind that he wants to write.

(p. 107)

Even in approaching the poetry of our own language, we may find the classification of metres, of lines with different numbers of syllables and stresses in different places, useful at a preliminary stage, as a simplified map of a complicated territory: but it is only the study, not of poetry but of poems, that can train our ear. It is not from rules, or by cold-blooded imitation of style, that we learn to write: we learn by imitation indeed, but by a deeper imitation than is achieved by analysis of style.

(p. 108)

Whether poetry is accentual or syllabic, rhymed or rhymeless, formal or free, it cannot afford to lose its contact with the changing language of common intercourse.

(p. 110)

… non-sense is not vacuity of sense: it is a parody of sense, and that is the sense of it. The Jumblies is a poem of adventure, and of nostalgia for the romance of foreign voyage and exploration; The Yongy-Bongy Bo and The Dong with a Luminous Nose are poems of unrequited passion – ‘blues’ in fact. We enjoy the music, which is of a high order, and we enjoy the feeling of irresponsibility towards the sense.

(p. 110)