The December 3rd (2007) issue of "Outlook", Fine Living Section had this to say on "How to be a poet"
"Find the perfect lover. Now lose him/her. Get sickly pale and wan. Go where the weather induces atmospheric mourning. Bitter cold is good. But Autumn when everything is growing, brown, brittle and dying, is even better. Throw together a few sentences, combining nostaligic reminscence with adjectives and cultural references for suffering and torture: tangles sheets, fevered brow, trembling legs, heavy heart, churning stomach, waterboarding. Now hie thee to a publisher and call thyself Keats."
huh! so much for good poetry!
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