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Selima Hill - From the Audience category:
An audience sabotages my freedom, devastates my innocence, corrupts my integrity, inhibits my great joy – and of course gives me further to fall. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Communication category:
If I knew how to say it directly, I would not need to write poetry. I would just talk to people and be happy. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Insecurity category:
I feel much safer faced with a blank sheet of paper than I do with a real person. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Poetry category:
All I do and say and think 'as a poet' is much truer and more intimate than anything I say face to face. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Recognition category:
When I was first published it was like having people rushing in coming to find out where I was hiding. Scary! (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Silence category:
I like to think that I'm giving a voice to the silenced... (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Space category:
Poetry is a big space and I love it. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Space category:
There's the space that you soar into, the space that you sometimes break through to, and hang in. A sort of gasp or gap. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Success category:
The very things I used to be told off for – daydreaming, exaggerating, making mistakes, wild guessing, contradicting, spying, being obsessive, being reckless – for these, suddenly, I am being praised. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Truth category:
I step naked into the shower of truth – whole-hearted, bloody-minded, utterly selfish, no longer even pretending to enjoy or understand anything. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Words category:
I have to use words to say it. Words that violate and betray what they seem to be making possible. Words, in other words, that are sadly not to be trusted. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Worth category:
I'm not so sure that the value of art is all it is cracked up to be. (Selima Hill)
Selima Hill - From the Writing category:
What am I writing for anyway? Is it like dreaming? Is it a benevolent process? Something that moves the past forward? And what about those people who say all you get from looking at the past is a stiff neck? (Selima Hill)
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