I'm trying, Candice, I'm trying.
I know I said "two" back-channel to you and Alison and Randolph, but the
old, pre-censorship 5-post honor limit of Poetics seems more reasonable
after hard and frustrating fishing for smallmouth, especially when one has
to deal with long-beaked, ocean-crossing birds of prey like David
Birrcumshaw, a web-footed, "Father and Son"-pecking being, who, I'm told by
the North African expatriate poet Tim Allen, once had a brief role in a
Hitchcock-wannabe flick. I have to hand it to him, though: Like those
furious, squawking birds of the great original, he had little idea what he'd
been brought into. Isn't poetry various?!?! As Zizek says, film is the great
poetic unconscious of the living tribe. (Will someone please turn down the
air conditioning???)
Thank you for the nice comments. You will notice that the allusions to
O'Hara carry over from the poem's title to a certain strategic enjambment
and certain other additional paraphrasings. You will notice, too, I hope,
that there is a paragram in the revised version devoted to to the screaming
Gaul, Henry Gould, as he goes down in his leaky walleye fishing boat.
cheers,
Kent
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