"With a poem I am given a phrase. Often when I least expect it. When my mind is on something else. And my hands are busy. Yet it must be caught at once, for it comes like a boomerang riding a magical arc and, continuing its forward path, it will vanish unless intercepted. And that phrase contains the poem as a seed contains the plant. It is also the bridge to another world where the components of the poem lie hidden like the parts of a dismembered statue in an archaeological site. They need to be sought and found and painstakingly put together again. And it is the search that matters. When the final piece slips into place the finished poem seems no more important than the image in a completed jig-saw puzzle. Worth little more than a passing glance.
Painting or drawing the process is entirely different. I start from no where. I am givien no thing. The picture, born at pen-point, grows out of the sensuous rich pleasure of nib, lead or brush moving across a surface."
P K Page "The Filled Pen"
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