The artist must create a spark before he can make a fire and before art is born, the artist must be ready to be consumed by the fire of his own creation.
With the birth of the artist came the inevitable afterbirth... the critic
. . . it is through poetry that we give name to those ideas which are-until the poem-nameless and formless, about to be birthed, but already felt.
I believe that each work of art, whether it is a work of great genius, or something very small, comes to the artist and says, "Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me."
An album is like a child and after a while I was ready to give birth!
There is a certain justice in criticism. The critic is like a midwife - a tyrannical midwife.
Art is born and takes hold wherever there is a timeless and insatiable longing for the spiritual...
I get an urge, like a pregnant elephant, to go away and give birth to a book.
The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery. Complications generally begin long before the fated soul carries its dubious light into whatever womb has been kind enough to volunteer the intricate machinery of its blood and prayers and muscles for a gestation period much longer than nine months or even nine years.
