Having just returned from the pub where I was delayed entry by the work
of my builders in developing my back patio I realise that I made a mistake.
It is Roy Fisher that I wanted words on for Lynx, nor Roy Foster, the
biographer of Yeats, whose encyclopaedic plod (and yesterday Holderlin
struck me as a GErman clod of genius on reading the Hamburger again)
I have no intention of reading. [and that is `not Roy'].
So Sidney Graham and Roy Fisher strike me as touchstones in the poetry
that does not appeal to me.
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