Don't be surprised if I demur, for, be advised my passport's green.

The external reality and inner dynamic of happenings in Northern Ireland between 1968 and 1974 were symptomatic of change, violent change admittedly, but change nevertheless, and for the minority living there, change had been long overdue.

The end of art is peace.

Two buckets were easier carried than one. / I grew up in between.

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.

I don't miss teaching. I'm learning to take my time for myself.

But even so, none of the news of these world-spasms entered me as terror.