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Alfred Prufrock” to us, and, as he was reading that poem out loud to the class, I realized that that’s what I was going to do with my life. So it was instantaneous.

So you can remember the moment? That’s interesting.

Yes. Before then I had written a few poems for another English class — I had to take double English classes because, I don’t know, my mom decided I needed to graduate before we left — so I had been reading Hart Crane in another class. I had written some imitation Hart Crane poems or something and after I heard “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” — that was it! I knew what I was going to do for the rest of my life.

So do you find yourself going back to Eliot as a source of inspiration?

Not really. It’s been a long time since I’ve read Eliot. I read Eliot after that day for about a year and a half — every day — so I kind of burned out on him, too. He’s still an extraordinary poet, but I can’t really read him anymore.

So regarding your first book, Ocean Avenue, Phillip Levine wrote that “It’s a book of motion and of enormous calm.” How do you, as a person and as a poet, balance those two things?

That’s a great question. I don’t know if I balance those two things. Maybe I’m aware of the contrast between the two. I mean, one can’t exist without the other. I mean, maybe calm and motion can, because they’re not direct opposites. But motion and stillness, let’s say, they are dependent on each other. Maybe, kind of, being witness to a lot of motion living in New York City, for instance, where a lot of this book was written – I think one of the reasons, perhaps, that I was so struck by motion is some kind of regard for stillness. But I don’t know if I balance them.

How long did it take you to write each book, so Ocean Avenue and then Astoria?

About seven years each.

Was there a moment when you knew you were finished?