Each sudden gust of light explains itself as flames, but neither they, nor even bombs redoubled on the hills tonight can quite include me in their fear.

But in a lot of ways my poems are very conventional, and it's no big deal for me to write a poem in either free verse or strict form; modern poets can, and do, do both.

I shall try to write a poem that is about the moment but doesn't betray things that are true to me as a poet.

I am writing more than I have ever done. My life has come back to me in the most extraordinary way.

I get up at 5.30am, sluice myself and have two Weetabix and some mint tea, before starting to write by 6am.

I deeply adored my mum. She was an extraordinary person, even for the prejudice I'm likely to have. She was beautiful, amusing, a tremendous elaborator of things into comic proportions and extravagant in her imagination.

But Wordsworth is the poet I admire above all others.