That article by Eagleton that Alison mentioned is in The Guardian.
Very interesting.
In another recent issue of same, John Tranter's Jacket is termed
"the Prince of on-line literary journals." There is no indication that
the writer feels there is a Queen.
David B, by the way, in that poem you posted a couple days ago,
the phrase "your running sex": I ask this seriously, more or less,
and I do so in full awareness that the question may betray a pitiful
paucity of poetic perspicaciousness on my part, but by this
"running" conceit, am I, as reader, meant to imagine a penis or
vagina with tiny legs, say, running away rapidly from you and your
lover?
Kent
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