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break it up and start again

I am feeling good about Poland overall. I might stay in Europe. I must make a big decision quite soon. My alien card for America will expire in two years. Then if I don't return to America the door shuts. I can still visit with my UK passport though.

Also, heading into new territory. Breaking up with Ela.

Might go to London in the summer for two weeks.

Might stay in Poland next year and keep teaching and writing.

I am not ready to return to America quite yet. But I want to keep connected to the literary world and my artist friends in North Carolina and other places in the U.S. I don't want to be completely isolated.

Love, I tell you.

Finished Bohumil Hrabal's Too Loud a Solitude. Fucking brilliant! Best novel I have read in a long long time. Woke me up. Made me realise life is full of potential. It's not over baby!!

Now I am reading Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. Love it so far. Although I just started it.

Chaos and order. Stability and pity. hm . . .



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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…