Wheresoe’er I turn my view,
All is strange, yet nothing new;
Endless labour all along,
Endless labour to be wrong;
Phrase that Time has flung away,
Uncouth words in disarray:
Trickt in antique ruff and bonnet,
Ode and elegy and sonnet.
“I have to create. I have to dig in the earth; I have to make something grow; I have to bake something; I have to write something; I have to sing something; I have to put something out. It’s not a need to prove anything. It’s just my way of life.”