[…] Somebody like Claudio must find it terribly boring to have to speak about his own poetry (what others like so much). The fact is that Claudio is what he is malgré lui, like the Roman emperor who carries his name or Molière’s doctor.
[…] Claudio’s poetry flows from the clearest fountainhead in the world, that of enduring childhood, and not from that other spring (past adolescence) in whose useless and stupid search so many poets get lost nowadays.