Poetry Is Language In Orbit.

You Had To Come Back To Learn How To Lose Yourself, To Be Pilot And Stray-witch, Hansel And Gretel In One.

At Home In Ireland, There's A Habit Of Avoidance, An Ironical Attitude Towards The Authority Figure.

The Main Thing Is To Write For The Joy Of It. Cultivate A Work-lust That Imagines Its Haven Like Your Hands At Night Dreaming The Sun In The Sunspot Of A Breast. You Are Fasted Now, Light-headed, Dangerous. Take Off From Here.

Yet There Are Times When A Deeper Need Enters, When We Want The Poem To Be Not Only Pleasurably Right But Compellingly Wise, Not Only A Surprising Variation Played Upon The World, But A Re-tuning Of The World Itself.

When I First Encountered The Name Of The City Of Stockholm, I Little Thought That I Would Ever Visit It, Never Mind End Up Being Welcomed To It As A Guest Of The Swedish Academy And The Nobel Foundation.