I'd Like To Write The

Pain Hardens, And Great Pain Hardens Greatly, Whatever The Comforters Say, And Suffering Does Not Ennoble, Though It May Occasionally Lend A Certain Rigid Dignity Of Manner To The Suffering Frame.

In My Mind's Eye Shakespeare Is A Huge, Hot Sea-beast, With Fire In His Veins And Ice On His Claws And Inscrutable Eyes, Who Looks Like An Inchoate Hump Under The Encrustations Of Live Barnacle-commentaries, Limpets And Trailing Weeds.

Narrative Is One Of The Best Intoxicants Or Tranquilisers.

The Reading Eye Must Do The Work To Make Them Live, And So It Did, Again And Again, Never The Same Life Twice, As The Artist Had Intended.

We Two Remake Our World By Naming It / Together, Knowing What Words Mean For Us / And For The Other For Whom Current Coin / Is Cold Speech - But We Say, The Tree, The Pool, / And See The Fire In The Air, The Sun, Our Sun, / Anybody's Sun, The World's Sun, But Here, Now / Particularly Our Sun.