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taking stock

memory is tricky. geting wrapped up in the moment can be both good and dangerous. I have been re-reading my poetry manuscripts Hermit Kingdom and Godzeenie. I feel quite good about Godzeenie now that I have about five months distance from the manuscript. I need to send it out to publishers.

I think part of my frustrations over the last two years has to do with being cut off from thte publishing community. The internet has the potential to lessen that isolation.

I have also been re-reading some blog entries from the past two years. It is strange to go back to those times. It helps. I forget some easily. Comparisons between then/now help. The U.S. offered me a lot in terms of education and especially the amazing Lucipo Group. I have also gained a lot from the hardships of living abroad with some difficult situations with my job and literally surviving. This summer after losing my job because of postings on this blog I would literally have been on the street if a good friend hadn't helped me. I am eating and I have a roof over my head. Many people are not so fortunate. I also worked hard for my education. So what next? Not sure. But I do need to remember my past. My difficult complex past creates/created who I am. Northern Ireland, England, America, South Korea, Poland, divorce, isolation, poverty, protestantism, Mormonism. It is a rich complex blend that MUST feed into my art and my life. I am most satisfied when I can find a way to deal with my memories through my art. I must rescue my vocabulary. I need new ways to live constantly. Writing poetry gives me new ways to both understand and create my cultures, my memories, my language, my thinking, my body, my life, my choices.


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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…