Alright Kasper me arl Basho inspired sparring partner of bruisable blather.
Apology accepted. You are forgiven, as I too wish to dish up atonement and
recant the ridiculously unfounded slur upon your intellect.
There's nothing like an textual dust to set the introductory register in a
remote literary relationship amongst linguistically gifted bores such as
ourselves, so please accept a full and unreserved apology for the
inaccurate assessment of the correct torsional rate twisting the mental
drive shaft at the heart of your own poetic.
I made a schoolboy blooper when I stuck the boot in on your moon and branch
offering, because when I googled it after firing off the unfounded
accusation of unoriginality, it turned out that your word-combos were
unique, which made me 100% wrong about your work being a lightweight piece
of uninspired fluff. When the mechanics at play in my own brain began
operating logically I recognised it for the highly evocative and
successfully executed piece it is. One whose true status the swilling
passion of my temporarily skewered out of kilter mind blinded me to.
~
The problems which caused this brief loss of sense are many and of little
or no interest to anybody but myself. One of which was, that over the
course of a long night of non-stop haiku at last spring's Haiku Ireland
bash in Damar Hall, I witnessed a group of highly competent Irish based
exponents of this compressed form of instant enlightenment, which caused me
to believe I had become an expert after only a few hours exposure to some
of the nation's most gifted and committed practitioners of this form.
Roberta Beary, Ernest J Berry, Glenda Cimino, Neville Keery, Sean
MacMathuna, Michael McClintock, John MacDonald, Joe McFadden, Jim Norton,
Dermot O'Brien, Maeve O'Sullivan, Kim Richardson, Mary White, Sean Brophy
and others whose names are filed in a portion of memory currently locked to
me, littered the air with their insight and glimpses of existential purity
that soft April night of near poetic overdose.
Another tributary cause of my short-term sense loss earlier today, was due
to the waffle I swapped with a primary force in that organisation, Gilles
Fabre; who very kindly gave me a free copy of his latest book, "Because of
a Seagull." This, coupled with the heady atmosphere of the haiku marathon,
led me to think I had a full grasp of the basic guff on the whole haiku
bit.
The evening was a veritable orgy of short offerings, culled from those
occasions in a poet's life when choice or chance lifts a veil between the
world of rude comprehension and the cosmic eternity rarely grasped, in
moments of clarity which yield from within when syzegial like occurrences
of poetic alignment channel an inner truth to gush forth and imprint life's
ageless watermark into a forcefully conscious experience of total
understanding.
This windy waffle of eternity and veils concealing otherworldly truths,
whilst easy to laugh at, is the external manifestation of a genuine belief
in the concept of a "mind's mirror reflecting" and all that.
Being a full time unemployable spacer whose goal is to live the dream, I am
currently in the process of turning my reality into a dream in order to
achieve this, so please forgive my further fetched notions, proclamations
and pontification, as the only talent I posses is one of imaginative escape.
~
My previous hang out was at poem.co.uk, where I spent much of my foclo
duelling and jousting with a cross-section cadre of mainly Anglo know not
delusionals, misinformed moaners, human poetical voids and simple
unaffected lovers of lingo. And instinctively sensing it was time to
outpour elsewhere I deported to here once I got hooked up online indoors,
as prior to this my office was in a candy store internet shop on Dublin
quays, which disallowed Jiscmail cookies from cluttering up the hard drives
of their computers.
Like you, I am a newbie here and hope this gaffe will be a place for honing
critical skill, exchanging esoterical chat with like minded colleagues of
the word, indulging in the odd spot of civilised abuse and continually
teasing to further coherency my own rationale. One which rests on the
foundation of my area of expertise - the history of Irish poetry - the
research of which leads me to unashamedly hoke into a triple goddess theory
of poetic belief, due to the 7C Amergin attributed touchstone text of this
tradition which is commonly referred to as the Cauldron of Poesy and which
I wish to discuss.
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