I Would Like People To Come Into

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.

I Can Remember Being In My Pram: Children Stayed In Their Prams Much Longer Then Than They Do Now. A Big Bouncy Pram With Black Covers And A Hood With Metal Clips That Could Trap Your Fingers. I Was Looking Up At My Sister Who Was Sitting On The Pram Seat, With Her Back To Me.

I Didn't Choose Russia But Russia Chose Me. I Had Been Fascinated From An Early Age By The Culture, The Language, The Literature And The History To The Place.

Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still Doesn’t Work, Throw It Away.

Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still Doesn't Work, Throw It Away. It's A Nice Feeling, And You Don't Want To Be Cluttered With The Corpses Of Poems And Stories Which Have Everything In Them Except The Life They Need.