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Gotta read Yeats "The Twisting of the Rope" and prepare a lesson plan for it. A little Celtic Twilight lecture perhaps.

Listening to Czech music. Jaromir Hohavica and Kapela.

I am wondering about poetry and performance after listening to Craig Arnold the other day. I like poetry read well, or well read poetry, but sometimes the over dramatic puts me off. I don't like things too quiet though. Maybe it all depends on the poet and their poetry. Maybe some poetry is better for performance while other poetry is meant to be savored. Rich, dense poetry for example. John Latta's reading allowed me to pay attention to the rich language. If he "acted" it, I think a lot would have been lost.

Ah, this czech music isn't very good. I'm switching to Flaming Lips.

I suppose performance needs to be defined. Is a silent reading to oneself a performance? In other words is all reading a performance even if silent? (the voice in our heads is a performance).

Somehow we need to distinguish between reading and performing poetry. If reading is always performing then we have no way to distinguish between performance art and a nice little academic poetry reading. And there is a difference. If performance is no longer applicable then lets invent another term.

It's about semantics. The Semantic island lacks a king. Or maybe there's always a silent king. So, we have to vocalize the semantic king. Bring him to light. (is the semantic king always male?)

Time for Yeats (and I think he acts his poetry. The lake isle and all).



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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.

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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…