There is ar opinion WhiCh Sdy~ :nat [ne Doom muse De cun)}.~，.<br > expemencP has eeer Jifferent. Ever time ] redo J moPm ]n ~Jbll，.<br > nr snow one eod reader， a subtle cnangp occurs my Uel CeDLlOn nr<br > *tnat c)em.<br > ~)metimes a poem only comes alive， after lying aroumo for /e，s;<br > ~hen a friend nolices ano identifies it Then u3e poem， ike ~ OelnQ<br > ~gins. its journey， It trav~l~ oc platforms， lodge~ ~" letters .et<br > ~es in temporary sea~es oetwee ~ne WOrK of o~ner moe[s "~ journal<br > Ind anthologies Often ooem-fragments are r~urneo Zo me Oy someone ，<br > ~mory， tasting OOlCe different from ~ne original orew.<br > ~ I find this ouite intriguing. I nave long ago decided ur~ ewe<br > ~hclusions in this regard. Firstly， my c)ems are not m~rel~ mlne slnce<br > ey-are continually beira cnangeo Dy others: and secondIj， [na~ the<br > oemia only， always and perpetually being completed oy cne reamer.<br > his makes writing poetry much less harrow ng， since one knows thdt<br > ~a~ever one puts down on the page is bound to be re-understood a few<br > ~red times.<br > ~ If there is justification for being precious about poetry， then<br > ~:~ie$ in this qua| ty of incompleteness Therefore， when writing，<br > ~ePoet shouldn t be too certain of the meanings， shouldn t tie then<br > ~i~oe tightly. My feeling is， rather leave some space for the actiw<br > D~，-~f the reader.<br > "Poems are like homes for memory; small caves in which be she]- j<br > ir for a while. They don t belong to anyone in particular (they don t<br > 6ke particularly good co~maodities) and are often not immediately<br > ~c~seible， but if lived in， they sometimes reveal rich surprises in<br > heir deepest reaches. AS these fascinating discoveries are made<br > ~ween the reader and the poem. a transformation happens， much like<br > home is changed through years of habitation by the dignityor sol-<br > ring of the resident，<br > i Somethiag striking about the act of making， as well as the poem<br > self， is the sense of opening outwards. Every word opens up mult~-<br > ~ possiblities of meaning rhythm and memory. Whenever I sit down to<br > ~i~e something in front of the infamous "blank page . I have to imi<br > J:t that blankness in order to begin. I must trust that each act of<br > lacing a word is an actof maRlng space for something to follow that<br > )rd， that idea. Some sense that the placing down of the word， any<br > )rd. is a beginning of the proliferation of more ideas， perspectives<br > id }mages， This gives the writer confidence to keep doing this.<br > Words are silent and uncoFrmlitting， it s the reading that kills<br >Br brings alive the marks on the page.<br >tO the o.， . the* ; p ，eT Could write without being alive<br >they m， " <br > ~ n .bari~s， the breathing and colours<br > : ，U .r~iminately and there would be<br >