DISARMED, UNARMED AND AWED
Reading the poetry of someone whom I consider to be a talented writer is both humbling and inspiring. I have the urge to write, but the inescapable knowledge that what gems may emerge from my pen do so mostly by luck. Mostly I have the urge to read more. I think, oh! I could do that! I have done that! But not in such quantity or with such quality, and never with such sparkling brilliance. Reading good poetry teases the edges of my skull, inflates it, renders it see-through. It’s rather the same with art. I know I have talent,...