My prose is turgid, it just hasn’t got any energy.

Mrs IcarusI’m not the first or the lastto stand on a hillock,watching the man she marriedprove to the worldhe’s a total, utter, absolute, Grade A pillock.

If poetry could truly tell it backwards, then it would.

Poets deal in writing about feelings and trying to find the language and images for intense feelings.

Poets sing our human music for us.

I like to use simple words, but in a complicated way.

Like the sand and the oyster, it’s a creative irritant. In each poem, I’m trying to reveal a truth, so it can’t have a fictional beginning.

But life, they said, means life. Dying inside.The Devil was evil, mad, but I was the Devil’s wifewhich made me worse. I howled in my cell.If the Devil is gone then how could this be...

It’s always good when women win things in fiction because it tends to be more male-dominated, unlike poetry, which is more equal.

Better off dead than giving in; not taking what you want.

I think the dangers are different now. Our abuse of the planet and our resources is an anxiety.

TEAI like pouring your tea, liftingthe heavy pot, and tipping it up,so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup.Or when you’re away, or at work,I like to think of your cupped hands as you...

I’ll be left writing picture books and fairy tales.

Between 9am and 3pm is when I work most intensely.

Christmas is taken very seriously in this household. I believe in Father Christmas, and there’s no way I’d do anything to undermine that belief.

Every day is a gift with a child, no matter what problems you have.

Edinburgh is my favourite city. We’ll be doing a lot of children’s theatre and galleries.

Anne HathawayThe bed we loved in was a spinning world of forests, castles, torchlight, clifftops, seaswhere we would dive for pearls. My lover’s wordswere shooting stars which fell to earth as kisseson these lips; my...

I write in that space between Ella’s childhood and mine. I know it all sounds a bit sinister.

Poetry and prayer are very similar.

What will you do now with the gift of your left life?

I still read Donne, particularly his love poems.

When you have a child, your previous life seems like someone else’s. It’s like living in a house and suddenly finding a room you didn’t know was there, full of treasure and light.

Love’s language starts, stops, starts; the right words flowing or clotting in the heart.

I write quite a lot of sonnets, and I think of them almost as prayers: short and memorable, something you can recite.

But behind each player sttod a line of ghosts unable to win. Eve. Ashputtel. Marilyn Monroe. Rapunzel slashing wildly at her hair. Bessie Smith unloved and down and out. Bluebeard’s wives, Henry VIII’s, Snow White...

Poetry, above all, is a series of intense moments – its power is not in narrative. I’m not dealing with facts, I’m dealing with emotion.