“The more I am aware of my mortality the better person I am and the better I am at choosing a life that is aware of its beauty.”

I think, as poets, we are in the odd position of constantly defending our art form. Which is funny and also sort of invigorating, too. No one really says, “Oh you’re a lawyer? I’ve never understood the law. In fact,

I mean, it’s hard to talk about death without realizing that’s our end too, right? I am constantly aware of death.

I’m always talking about how the poems I am most obsessed with are like people: complex and unknowable and with a huge capacity for many different emotions.

It’s not that I want to be, but it’s a fascination of the mind and it plays a role in why I want to live my life a certain way.

One of the reasons I’ve felt so connected to poetry throughout the years is because it’s the only art form that has breath built into it. And I need that breath now. I need that breath so much. So, yes, it is a refuge for me. Absolutely.

I’m always telling my students that the weirdest thing is the truth. I mean, the fact that we get up in the morning and put on clothes is weird.

I have been writing. Even when I intend not to write, I find myself writing. I’m currently in a place where I should be putting together the fifth book, but then more poems are coming. It’s exciting and somewhat daunting.

All night I dreamt of bonfires and burn piles and ghosts of men, and spirits behind those birds of flame. I cannot tell anymore when a door opens or closes,

Moving away from “useful” doesn’t mean it isn’t necessary. You can still need poetry while also needing money or food or physical health.

I kind of hate it.” Or, “Oh you wait tables? I didn’t know that was something people did.” I say it can be invigorating because, on some level, we have to evaluate what we do and why we do it almost daily.

You know how we are when a new book of poems is at last coming together – all frenzy, distraction, and bounty? It’s as if I’ve turned into summer itself.

Precise, graceful, and generous, the poems in SuperLoop, seem to be born out of a deep, careful attention and a profound compassion.

The longed-for return of the bees. Unaffected and inherently hopeful, Callihan’s work is as merciful as it is moving.

Poems have always been a place for questions for me. Not answers. And I have a lot of questions these days.

Language can also be play and music and beauty and desire and grief and rage and truth without always having to be message-driven or purely functional.

We have to explain ourselves to people all the time. We have to say, “Yes, I am a unicorn, believe in me.”

People need to be made more aware of the need to work at learning how to live because life is so quick and sometimes it goes away too quickly.

The quality of one’s life depends on the quality of attention. Whatever you pay attention to will grow more important in your life. There is no limit to the kinds of changes that awareness can produce.

More than anyone, I am aware of the preconceptions. I was a Spice Girl. I’m married to a footballer.

I’ve been in the public eye for about 15 or 16 years and I’m very aware that fame is not a given. I have to maintain it. It’s not just something that will always be there.

The Universe contains three things that cannot be destroyed; Being, Awareness and LOVE.

Humans believe so many lies because we aren’t aware. We ignore the truth or we just don’t see the truth. When we are educated, we accumulate a lot of knowledge, and all that knowledge is just like a wall of fog that doesn’t allow us to perceive the truth, what really is.

The “we” of your divine birthright – the one that is aware of its place as part of the collective whole – knows that it is your sacred obligation to shine your brightest light, not just in your moments of glory but each day.

I have never been happier, more exhilarated, at peace, rested, inspired, and aware of the grandeur of the universe and the greatness of God than when I find myself in a natural setting not much changed from the way He made it.