. . . That kind of waiting for the right word to fill the space is something I associate more with translation. If you're writing your own poem, you're after something just at the edge of your knowledge, so you're in a much more improvisionary frame of mind. But when you're translating, you tend to know the effect you're after, the space is there at the centre like an empty space in a jigsaw, and what you need most is the one piece of language that fix exactly. Often the way to find it is to wait, think about it when you waken at night, or when you're trying to get to sleep, for that matter.
(Stepping Stones, pp. 448-449)