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Went to a used bookstore today. I can't seem to stay away. Almost always overwhelmed by boring poetry section. Then again in the last few weeks I did pick up:

Nice to See You (Homage to Ted Berrigan) $2
The Dada Market (anthology) $4
Routine Distortions (Kenward Elmslie) $5
Mercurochrome (Wanda Coleman) $5
Charles Simic (Selected Poems) $6
Numen (Cole Swenson) $3
The shepherd, The Hunter (selected poems of Tomaz Salamun)

So, I guess sometimes a good find happens.

I read so much theory for my MA comps I find it hard to pick up a theory book now. Don't know if it will pass. Didn't read any theory for two years while finishing my MFA. Got a lot more writing done. A lot more. Maybe it's internalized.


Someone's blog (sorry after a while blogs run together) mentioned the good fumes from decaying langauge poetry. Are we also enjoying the good fumes of surrealism and DADA poetry? Or, (i.e. the Fence debate a while back) are we misappropriating? Decontextualizing etc.

I am teaching a class in Irish literature in the spring. I keep looking for other poets from my homeland who are not elegiac etc. Surrealist Irish poet? I do enjoy Matthew Sweeney.
A lot of Irish love Billy Collins. That's the latest innovation. Easy going poetry and confessional poetry (Rita Ann Higgins). Salmon poetry is so stuck in the past. So much Romantic nature poetry. Irish poetry is stuck. Poetry Ireland Review only publishes the poetry of limited perception. Quiet voices. The weight of tradition. The weight of history.
Paul Muldoon may be an exception and Randoph Healey, Joyce (honey press etc.)




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This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).


Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 1996.
Catherine Walsh, Idir Eatortha and Making Tents. London: Invisible Books, 1996.

By Robert Archambeau

I began the first half of this article (Notre Dame Review #4) by mentioning some of the limits to the legendary hospitality Ireland has shown to its poets. If you arrive in Ireland from any point of departure outside of Eastern Europe, you will indeed find a public far more willing than the one you left behind to grant poets the recognition all but the most ascetic secretly crave. However, this hospitality has never extended to Irish poets w…