is evident: the sound the voice makes in walking, sitting, leaning, slouching, stooping; its sound in heat, lust, joy, grief, fatigue: "Time takes one hand and helps us up the stair"--here a drawn-out abstraction suddenly quickens, comes alive, turns iambic, does what it says; the verse is constantly trembling with a sense of the body in time, the self slung across metre, whether metre is steps, or nights, or breath, whether lines are days, or years, or tides.from The Guardian: Lines on the horizon
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