But I tend to think of the expressive part of me as rather tedious - never curious or responsive, but blind and self-serving.

The burial of feelings has begun.

No voice comes from outer space, from the folds of dust and carpets of wind to tell us that this is the way it was meant to happen, that if only we knew how long the ruins would last we would never complain.

I tend to like poems that engage me - that is to say, which do not bore me.

The reality of a poem is a very ghostly one. It suggests, it suggests, it suggests again.

I am not concerned with truth, nor with conventional notions of what is beautiful.

Usually a life turned into a poem is misrepresented.