Reading Robert Lowell is always a pleasure and I rate him my favourite poet. I was in Bredon’s Bookshop in East St, Brighton in about 1960, a haunt of mine in my Art School years. It was a freezing afternoon, and I was cold and hungry. The bookshop was warm and welcoming. I picked up Life Studies and I’ve never experienced such instant emotion from a modern poet. He stirred me and inspired me and I began to write - such is the arrogance of youth - my first poems. A frustrated artist and writer, I had always been conflicted about what I wanted to be. Lowell did two things; he thrilled me and destroyed me. As a poet I mean. Why bother to write poetry in the face of this supremely passionate intelligence? And Lowell still excites me.