For you where never my blood sister so no more shall I call you little sister

I can remember being in my pram: children stayed in their prams much longer then than they do now. A big bouncy pram with black covers and a hood with metal clips that could trap your fingers. I was looking up at my sister who was sitting on the pram seat, with her back to me.

Poets go through a very tough apprenticeship in the use of words.

Mourning Ruby is not a flat landscape: it is more like a box with pictures painted on every face. And each face is also a door which opens, I hope, to take the reader deep into the book.

For you where never my blood sister so no more shall I call you little sister

However, I began to submit poems to British magazines, and some were accepted. It was a great moment to see my first poems published. It felt like entering a tradition.

The language has got to be fully alive - I can't bear dull, flaccid writing myself and I don't see why any reader should put up with it.