An old art spreading rumours about / Paradise, it begs outside the gates / Of the gods: the active gods come out.

I am moving deeper into my own brain.

I started off in England and very few people knew I was Australian. I mean, the clues were in the poems, but they didn't read them very carefully, and so for years and years I was considered completely part of the English poetry scene.

In other words the pictures are in a kind of relationship with each other which is touching only at points rather than pictures being illustrations of poems or poems extrapolations of the pictures.

Poetry is either language lit up by life or life lit up by language

Auden is an accomplished rhymer and Shakespeare is not.

I have no fondness for pure form at all.