Dear David, I'm not sure that the paragon of undifference you call "Ermie"
(the apurplexed artist formerly known as Beatrice Alighieri) has necessarily
put me "in the right place", as you say; as poetry undistinguished (except
for the typo "sure hat"), her lines misleadingly describe Frederick (whom
you designate with scornful politeness as Mr Pollack, surely a novelty on
this list) as a "lyric poet" and implies his poetry is shit without
describing the shape, texture or odour of the same. I find his verse too
sharp-profiled for that. I don't agree with some of his political views, but
I don't like Éluard's Stalinism either. (No comparison implied, Frederick,
just an analogy.)
Cheers
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