I've always associated the moment of writing with a moment of lift, of joy, of unexpected reward.

Then as the years went on and my listening became more deliberate, I would climb up on an arm of our big sofa to get my ear closer to the wireless speaker.

Poetry cannot afford to lose its fundamentally self-delighting inventiveness, its joy in being a process of language as well as a representation of things in the world.

Once I was on the job, once I had got started, I felt safe enough, but the anticipation made me tense.

I suppose I'm saying that defiance is actually part of the lyric job

The end of art is peace.

Even if the last move did not succeed, the inner command says move again.