I Was Always Influenced By Language.

However, I Began To Submit Poems To British Magazines, And Some Were Accepted. It Was A Great Moment To See My First Poems Published. It Felt Like Entering A Tradition.

It Is A Violation Which Has Obsessed The Tyrants Of The Twentieth Century. They Do Not Want Simply To Kill Their Opponents, But To Liquidate Them, To Deny That They Have Ever Existed.

The Human Longing For Story Is So Powerful, So Primitive, That It Seems Like Something Not Learned, But Locked Into Our Genes.

If The Garden Of Eden Really Exists It Does So Moment By Moment, Fragmented And Tough, Cropping Up Like A Fan Of Buddleia High Up In The Gutter Of A Deserted Warehouse, Or In A Heap Of Frozen Cabbages Becoming Luminous In The Reflected Light Of Roadside Snow.

Once One Habit Peels Away The Others Follow It. You Have To Hold On, Or The Next Thing You'll Find Yourself Parading Down The Street In Your Nightdress. Habit Is Everything.