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deft Pollock

Poorly paid Laborers Break Up Ships for Salvage

The deft seduction of art keeps us transfixed.

There’s always some visual pleasure to engage us.

A painter’s eye for color and a sculptors eye for form.

An uncool composition of light.

The lyrical morpheme. The skyline of a water-edged city. The play of shadow and light unknown to westerners.

An endless grid of silvery metal pipes. A wrap of yellow caution tape. Play “name that reference.”

The veined white marble is a dead-ringer. The Chinese wire women looked like a Pollock.

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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…