‘I’m consistently impressed by the haiku-like compression in your lyrics and poetry. I have this theory that a complex experience can be packed into just a few carefully chosen words and slipped under the door to the reader, who can then unpack the phrase and get the full experience of the writer on the other side. For example, the line, “An anchor lets you see the river move,” from “How to Rent a Room.” I’ve spent hours thinking about all the implications of that line, many of which I imagine occurred to you when you wrote it. What technique is involved in achieving such compression?

Berman: First you have to write a lot of sentences. Then you’ve got to switch to the other side and become the reader. Be hard on yourself. Take out those things that don’t advance the cause even if you’re fond of them. Then again and again. Allen Ginsburg was wrong about a lot of things, but especially when he said, “First thought, best thought.”‘