Louise Glück: I think what I feel is trust in my editorial capabilities. I know that if I get something on the page, I can do something with it. I’ll know what to do. But yeah, I do. My bedtime story when I was very, very little, my father used to tell my sister and me the story of St. Joan, without the burning. And you know, she heard voices and I was very accustomed to the idea that one heard voices. I hear language. It’s not like an angel speaking to me, but language comes, and I don’t know how to control it, but I’m very grateful when it happens. I’ve never felt that I’ve been wrong about one of those little gifts. But then, a lot of what I do is not — it doesn’t come about that way. It’s a sort of “one poem leads to the next” in unexpected ways. But when some switch has been flipped and you’re in the “on” mode, and then you’re off. And every time it’s off, you feel as though this is the true silence. This is the end of all speech. It’s a horrible feeling, and it still dogs me. I’ve been talking a long time right now, for example.