I'd Like To Write The

Only Write To Me, Write To Me, I Love To See The Hop And Skip And Sudden Starts Of Your Ink.

An Odd Phrase, "by Heart," He Would Add, As Though Poems Were Stored In The Bloodstream.

In My Mind's Eye Shakespeare Is A Huge, Hot Sea-beast, With Fire In His Veins And Ice On His Claws And Inscrutable Eyes, Who Looks Like An Inchoate Hump Under The Encrustations Of Live Barnacle-commentaries, Limpets And Trailing Weeds.

What I Need To Write Well Is A Combination Of Heat, Light And Solitude.

I Know That Part Of The Reason I Read Tolkien When I'm Ill Is That There Is An Almost Total Absence Of Sexuality In His World, Which Is Restful.