The ambiguities of language, both in terms of vocabulary and syntax, are fascinating: how important connotation is, what is lost and what is gained in the linguistic transition.
The pull between sound and syntax creates a kind of musical tension in the language that interests me.
You are almost not free, if you are teaching a group of graduate students, to become friends with one of them. I don't mean anything erotically charged, just a friendship.
Good writing gives energy, whatever it is about.
Clearly, once the student is no longer a student the possibilities of relationship are enlarged.
Everyone thinks they're going to write one book of poems or one novel.
As a teacher you are more or less obliged to pay the same amount of attention to everything. That can wear you down.
Paris is a wonderful city. I can't say I belong to an especially anglophone community.
There is something very satisfactory about being in the middle of something.
I worked at all kinds of jobs, mostly commercial editing.
We sometimes received - and I would read - 200 manuscripts a week. Some of them were wonderful, some were terrible; most were mediocre. It was like the gifts of the good and bad fairies.
The pleasure that I take in writing gets me interested in writing a poem. It's not a statement about what I think anybody else should be doing. For me, it's an interesting tension between interior and exterior.
The woman poet must be either a sexless, reclusive eccentric, with nothing to say specifically to women, or a brilliant, tragic, tortured suicide.
Translation is an interestingly different way to be involved both with poetry and with the language that I've found myself living in much of the time. I think the two feed each other.
Community means people spending time together here, and I don't think there's really that.
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