write

Here in the Northern hemisphere the feeble light is ever darkening and, quicker than you can say Jack Frost, it will be St Lucie’s Day; the moment in the calendar when the world's whole sap is sunk. I love that poem, I always return to it at this time of year. There is something atavistic about...

I write when I feel called to language. When I haven’t felt called for a while, I show up anyway to see what happens. I used to write every day. Not anymore. I try to touch words, mine or others, every day. That’s often books and poems and interviews. Sometimes it’s writing, sometimes reading...