Some poems or publications function like little mechanical toys: the delight is to come back to them and see them perform the same simple manoeuvre again and again.

One strength of poetry is that in an overcrowded world it can open up imaginative space. The whole sweep of the landscape can come into a room, with a hill of sufficient bulk, the din of rushing water. I like the flicker between literal and imaginative space, that our environment can be subject to a nominal transformation. A few words on a card propped up on a table can summon up a prospect or command a whole situation.

I like the way that our publications fall through the system but yet exist in the world. They are to be found pinned to a notice board, carefully placed on a table, in a walker's jacket pocket, in galleries (or display cases in a library), rather than in bookshops. I like the fact that they get little acclaim but a lot of attention, that they are not given by the culture but are a discovery for each person who comes across them.

Thomas A. Clark