If Self Is A Location, So Is

The Gift Of Writing Is To Be Self-forgetful... To Get A Surge Of Inner Life Or Inner Supply Or Unexpected Sense Of Empowerment, To Be Afloat, To Be Out Of Yourself.

The External Reality And Inner Dynamic Of Happenings In Northern Ireland Between 1968 And 1974 Were Symptomatic Of Change, Violent Change Admittedly, But Change Nevertheless, And For The Minority Living There, Change Had Been Long Overdue.

The Fact Of The Matter Is That The Most Unexpected And Miraculous Thing In My Life Was The Arrival In It Of Poetry Itself - As A Vocation And An Elevation Almost.

It Is Difficult At Times To Repress The Thought That History Is About As Instructive As An Abattoir; That Tacitus Was Right And That Peace Is Merely The Desolation Left Behind After The Decisive Operations Of Merciless Power.

The Ireland I Now Inhabit Is One That These Irish Contemporaries Have Helped To Imagine.