A few years ago when I was editing Modern Poetry in Translation and despaired of ever composing anything of my own, Michael seemed to sense this and wrote to ask if I had any work for him to see. I had nothing in the potato sack, apart from a few mouldy tubers, and I didn’t know how to answer, but equally didn’t want to betray his faith in me.  

I had written a piece a while before and I sent it to him, saying that it was too long and wouldn’t suit and he wouldn’t want it, but to my surprise Michael replied to say it would do nicely and proceeded to publish it in PN Review. This was the long monologue poem ‘Joy’, written in the voice of Catherine Blake, William Blake’s widow. Without Michael’s enthusiasm ‘Joy’ would almost certainly never have seen publication.

At another point Michael sent me a book to review, a strange and glorious book, but one which I was hopelessly ill-fitted to write about. Instead I wrote as a response an essay about seeing and perspective. There is no one else who would have taken that essay in place of a sensible review – but Michael did, and I subsequently heard from readers that it had found its audience.

Last year when the war began, I put an exiled Russian poet in touch with a young British translator to translate anti-war poetry. At the time it was hard to publish work by anti-war Russians, and some editors had made it clear to me that I could only submit work by Ukrainians. ...