I used to spend a lot of time just walking around the museum and dwelling with objects and noticing the difference between something I liked, something I wanted to research, and something that seemed to stir a sort of voice in my head and I made a point of only writing the ones that stirred a voice.

I'm not worried about poetry…I think it's so vital a form of art and language that it would survive no matter what happens in the material sense. So I'm pretty optimistic about the survival of poetry. 

You have within cultures, and within poetry, forms and rituals that help you deal with mourning and give shape to this shapeless experience. But I felt that everything that I was offered was vain, empty, hollow, and that I had to find out my rituals, my language, and the only way that I can do it is starting where there is no language. And I think that poetry always starts with no language at all.