Since 1989 I have seen fit to place what I call a mischief somewhere in every book I write. It’s a little secret between myself and myself. Something inserted that remains hermetic, sealed against reader comprehension. Something only I know.
My wife put it bluntly: no one can read your handwriting. I can't read your handwriting. Mystery is the key to love and love comes from the soul, but then my daughter added, "Why puzzle the reader? I can't read
One of the things that I should probably point out is that poetry is not, how shall we put it, like an undergraduate essay. Poetry relies on sonics -- the sound of the words, the lines, and especially (with the
T.S. Eliot once said that it is the duty of every editor to rescue the work from its author. I don't think he meant impose a reading on the work; on the contrary his vision of the editorial process was
On the farm you ate everything but the squeal on the pig. Washing before dinner meant joining the threshing crew and sloshing your wrists and splashing your face in the galvanized tub then wiping your hands on a common towel,