The Gift Of Writing Is To Be

Poetry Cannot Afford To Lose Its Fundamentally Self-delighting Inventiveness, Its Joy In Being A Process Of Language As Well As A Representation Of Things In The World.

The Dotted Line My Father's Ashplant Made On Sandymount Strand Is Something Else The Tide Won't Wash Away.

Hope For A Great Sea-change Timid To Rebuke And Too Petty To Forgive.

On The Contrary, A Trust In The Staying Power And Travel-worthiness Of Such Good Should Encourage Us To Credit The Possibility Of A World Where Respect For The Validity Of Every Tradition Will Issue In The Creation And Maintenance Of A Salubrious Political Space.

Even If The Last Move Did Not Succeed, The Inner Command Says Move Again.