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Why do I find the seahorse specifically romantic?

Something about the reduction of something huge and bulging into a tiny little repoduction that lives in water.

Shrinkage into water (shrink back into womb perhaps).

Spoke with a youngish yale winning poet a few weeks ago who said to be careful with blogs sucking dry and giving away stuff for free.

Suck dry for free.

Suck dry for money.

Either way, you're still suck dry.


I was locked out of the house and my toes are cold.

Someone had an extra key and let me in.
Someone should always have an extra key.




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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.

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…