I have to say that I just don't get this, David.
For one thing, I can't feature Silliman & Lawrence as that alike. And
even if the first does act as a kind of 'gatekeeper' in his blog,
nobody has to use that gate (most of his readers probably agree with
him about 1/8th to 1/4 to 1/3 the time). Lawrence, on the other hand,
has participated in the conversation here, which ranges all over the
poetic map, & doesn't seem to me to be doing any more 'gatekeeping'
than any of the rest of us. We all sometimes make known our likes,
recommend some writers & some books, but that is part of the point
isn't it?
Various scenes may suck, but does the whole? That covers a lot of
ground. Part of the pleasure of this space, & why I keep coming to it,
is that there are so many different people here to talk to, hear from,
etc. Lawrence has been, to me, one of the ones who brings news from a
particular area of international poetry, one I've often found exciting
& engaging. Why not?
Now it's true that Ron only posts news of his blog here, so really
doesn't participate, but then each of us can either pay no attention,
or go see what he's talking about now. Sometimes I do & learn about
things that interest me, or not, & sometimes I don't. No problem, &
certainly he isn't controlling any gate I pay attention to.
Doug
On 23-May-06, at 7:44 AM, David Bircumshaw wrote:
> I think I should attempt to refine my statements, as much as I can,
> refinement and the slums of Brummagem don't sit easy together: I hate
> (this
> doesn't sound refined) what people like Ron Silliman and Lawrence seem
> to
> stand for, notice that 'seem': it's an impression I get, I might be
> totally
> wrong, in which case I ask for their forgiveness. But that impression
> I get
> is of 'gatekeepers', managerial controllers, massagers of who's in
> who's
> out. I love the art of poetry, but the poetry scene sucks, the
> disingenousness of people in it is breathtaking.
Douglas Barbour
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The poet is ecstatic, having dreamt of this visit for weeks.
He takes Erato’s face, dribbling and wild, between his hands
and kisses her gently as if she were a runaway teenager.
Diana Hartog
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