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After listening to Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize Lecture

Innocent people suffer. The less innocent subsidize. Is this not the case? There was of course fierce resistance. A never-ending reflection the writer must smash. He was assassinated while saying Mass. Never happened even while it was happening. Is all this dead? The answer is yes. Language was employed to keep thought at bay. You may suffocate but it's comfortable. The greatest show on the road. Lie back on these words. Impotent irrelevant and detained without process. We don't do body counts. Blood is too dirty when making sincere speeches. Sucked up the nose and into the throat a 4 yr old asks, "“When do I get my arms back?"” The mutilated rot in their beds. Bullets are born. Full spectrum dominance means 2,000 nuclear weapons on hair-trigger alert. The disempowered grow daily. God is good; God is great; my God is good. Fire from heaven and blood without fuss. We are not barbarians. Sickened shamed and angered without coherent force. Serious sincere curiously attractive. Writing is a naked activity and some of the whims are icy.

Listen to the speech here:

Harold Pinter's Speech


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Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
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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…