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

If you have the words, there's always a chance that you'll find the way.

In fact, in lyric poetry, truthfulness becomes recognizable as a ring of truth within the medium itself.

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

Poetry is always slightly mysterious, and you wonder what is your relationship to it.

A public expectation, it has to be said, not of poetry as such but of political positions variously approvable by mutually disapproving groups.

It is difficult at times to repress the thought that history is about as instructive as an abattoir; that Tacitus was right and that peace is merely the desolation left behind after the decisive operations of merciless power.