"Literary style is the expression of the innate person, not something you buy into with options for future makeovers."
. . .
"[My work] runs counter to a lot of what is deemed avant-garde work. I noticed I couldn't really write the thinky or conceptual poems that mark their territory through a refusal of sense data, or spatio-temporal conventions. I've written a lot on Susan Stewart's work, which takes as a starting point Marx's notion that even the five senses are the product of historical forces - they have a history, and for Stewart poetry is a record of that history.
And I have a history, and it is legible in my work both as content and in the development of styles and methods. I wouldn't have it any other way."
-- Ange Mlinko, in conversation with Jordan Davis
From the dustjacket of the 1917 edition of William Carlos Williams’ book Al Que Quiere!:
“To Whom It May Concern! This book is a collection of poems by William Carlos Williams. You, gentle reader, will probably not like it, because it is brutally powerful and scornfully crude. Fortunately, neither the author nor the publisher care much whether you like it or not. The author has done his work, and if you do read the book you will agree that he doesn’t give a damn for your opinion. . . . And we, the publishers, don’t much care whether you buy the book or not. It only costs a dollar, so that we can’t make much profit out of it. But we have the satisfaction of offering that which will outweigh, in spite of its eighty small pages, a dozen volumes of pretty lyrics. We have the profound satisfaction of publishing a book in which, we venture to predict, the poets of the future will dig for material as the poets of today dig in Whitman’s Leaves of Grass.”-- via cs perez, who adds:
... the epigraph of Al Que Quiere! is a passage from the story "El hombre que parecia un caballo," by Guatemalan writer Rafael Arévalo Martínez (whom Williams translated with his father):
“I had been an adventurous shrub which prolongs its filaments until it finds the necessary humus in new earth. And how I fed! I fed with the joy of tremulous leaves of chlorafile that spread themselves to the sun; with the joy with which a root encounters a decomposing corpse; with the joy with which convalescents take their vacillating steps in the light-flooded mornings of spring.”
[all this info can be found in the notes to the collected WCW]