October's gold is dim — the forests rot, The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp.

It's amazing, the amount of detail and thought that goes into just an average day. Between the things you see on the news, or on the subway, or whatever, it all gets in there. You sort of shut most of it out, but it all goes in.

There's nightingales calling, shooting stars falling, like jewels in the rain.

And come, blue deeps! magnificently strown With coloured clouds - large, light, and fugitive.

I don't know what I want, but I know what I don't want: I don't want to just repeat myself.

You can't just be reactive to the things going on in your life. You have to imagine, and you have to plunder other people's work, books, poems, ideas, observations.

In the creative act, you kind of reach down and look for things that will, when put together, create an emotional effect.