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The great salt lake



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Dani Sandal said…
Ride that bus of ghost hippies, Brother! I'm in the back, with the bad kids yawning my celestial yawns shredding the fig leaf for want of naked truth. I want to suck face with the boy from Galilee and snort nutmeg while the boyscouts masturbate in waters of the Great Salt Lake, asking What am I doing here?

AAAHHH! That was a mighty great reading! Dig that shit!

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This review really hit it for me. I recently read Maurice Scully's _Livelihood_ and Geofrey Squires _Untitled and Other Poems_ is on deck (I love that baseball term. It is baseball, right?)

I think this is from The Nortre Dame review, but I found it via goofle (I mean google).


Another Ireland: Part Two
Maurice Scully, The Basic Colours. Durham, UK: Pig Press, 1994.
Geoffrey Squires, Landscapes and Silences. Dublin: New Writers' Press, 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…