Poetry is language in orbit.

Irish readers, British readers, American readers: is it odd that I haven't a clue about how differently they react? Or better say, I cannot find the words to describe my hunch about them.

As writers and readers, as sinners and citizens, our realism and our aesthetic sense make us wary of crediting the positive note.

Publication is rather like pushing the boat out; then the boat/book turns into a melting ice floe and you have to conjure a second boat which again turns into a melting floe under your feet. All the stepping stones that you conjure disappear under the water behind you.

Part of my gradual education of myself has been to think that there is a deep relationship between the nature of the creature and the worth of the art.

Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. ~from the poem "Digging

The thing about writing is that if you have the impulse, you will find the time.