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The local indep. music store (gate city noise) sent out an emergency email. They could go under in less than a month. So a big group of writers spent money on good music.

I picked up:

The Flaming Lips (The Soft Bulletin)
Ted Leo/Pharmacists (The Tyranny of Distance)
Califone (Heron King BLVES)
The Wrens (Meadowlands)

Also burned a copy of The Clientele. Good stuff.

I wish we had an independent bookstore in Greensboro. ABE is good, but I like to feel before I buy sometimes.

I returned Tony Hoagland's newest book (narcisism and me) and Charles Simic's Walking the Black Cat (since I already have two selected books of Simic) to Barnes and Nobles. In exchange I picked up C.D. Wright's "Steal Away"

I read Deepstep Come Shining a while back and enjoyed it. I hope I enjoy Wright's selected.

I like what C.D. Wright says in an interview about scenes, groups, etc. She says she learned from the various happenings and scenes in San Fran. but she didn't let that dictate or limit her influences and allegiances.

She says, " I just never liked anyone telling me what to do or what to like. Or ‘versa vice.’ If the poetries I like cancel one other out at the polls, so be it. I’ll vote as many times as I please. I don’t think that drops me off in some dead zone."

Yes. I am feeling more and more in-line with this out-of-line thinking.


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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…