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Glad that Martin Gardiner has shone a different ray into the smoky room of Prynne and Derrida. Now it strikes into Finlay's garden or should I say gardiner. A good place to start on Finlay might be his fascination with the Fr. Revolution's St. Just. Now this is a question of meaning what you say (or hang up for people to view) -- a rather terrifying rigour, wouldn't you say? I don't know too much about this, having never visited the site. But my guess is that Martin Gardiner is dying to say something himself. So ... Another good place to start -- respecting Ric's Grimus-like attempt to refertilise this world -- would be to say: "Finlay? Why does no one among these sharp-eyed pro-feminists ever talk about women poets?" I mean, what's that Bessie lyric? "A mouthful of gimme and a handful of much obliged." Will anyone want to read another shot from me on Prynne/Derrida? I've promised to shoot it, so ... I'm reloading, I'm afraid, with more masculine steel-cased bullets. But would any one like to discuss how Denise Riley's long lines work? Or the layering in Grace Lake's work? The intelligence word-to-word of Helen MacDonald's fusing the world of human loves and human-bird relations into a strange meld of dictions -- cross-century, cross-biology? Geraldine Monk's real concern for real people? Oh yes, Maggie O'Sullivan? Can we discuss these people as minutely as we discuss Prynne? Why are the British women viewed as less interesting as, say, the Howe sisters (more power to them)? Does a man have to say these things, increasing yet more the patriarchal patronage? I mean, WHAT'S WRONG WITH US? %%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%