Over the years we have witnessed a fair bit of rubbish ranting on this  
list. I've contributed myself at times. But there has usually been  
some point to it, some genuine disagreement and anger, unless it was  
one of those cases where a bit of game playing was going on and even  
then some amusement could ensue. If a list is not engaging and  
informative then it should at least be entertaining. But this is just  
boring in a very depressing kind of way.

Tim A.

On 4 Apr 2009, at 07:53, Grade 6 - Anruth wrote:

> Credibility?
>
> The ability to be believed: convincing.
>
> What is *progressive* practice in contemporary poetry?
>
> How would you recognise the new, different, exciting and crucially,
> progressive voices you claim to champion?
>
> Would they come lumbering as an oil-tanker, telegraphing their  
> presence and
> talent by following a predictable route of study to sinecure, in  
> exciting
> thoughtful, steady-as-they-go'ness, in modest airs and with academic  
> grace?
>
> Would you welcome a put-upon poet with no supporters cheering their  
> corner,
> as the progressive in-print-practitioner displaying the innovative  
> skills in
> language of the Modernist tradition you so love: or like a court  
> bard of
> Maelgwn ap Cadwallon when Taliesin appeared predicting the collapse of
> Cadwallon's kingdom in a torrent of extemporised verses, would you  
> make
> noises of a baby gurgling?
>
> ~
>
> Forgive me Jeff, but I am beyond caring about the credibility of my  
> doings.
> The facts speak for themselves. The practice is either the result of  
> some
> deeply powerful psychological itch and twitch which manifests itself  
> as
> verbal incontinence, (mental illness perhaps?) that a superior  
> intellectual
> like your very good self could contextualise in long penetrating  
> lines of
> astounding insight, as the ramblings of an idiot with no  
> appreciation of
> whatever you as the inheritor-custodian of Ez and Aristotle hold  
> fast and
> cleave to.
>
> Art lover drifting along on a central heated cloud to the land of
> tranquility and passion within, your progressive practice batting  
> for the
> one true light of forward viewing advanced bands of Literature lovers
> uttering what the history of Art tells us:
>
> "What is categorically not the case, is that major talent can only  
> be an
> outpouring of an unadventurous character."
>
> ~
>
> Talent, regardless of the labels of major or minor, is Seigas well  
> within,
> in my tradition, and the routes to one's poetic attainment through  
> imbas -
> cerebral fizz of literary inspiration, as the masters in language  
> reveal, do
> not all follow the same one track, do not all sing from the same
> back-catalogue.
>
> Eliot and Joyce: Bernstein and Beckett, po-mo playfulness, that's  
> the racket
> a masterful ollamh desires to chant - purity of mouth, without  
> poisonous
> satire,  hymns and hands bright without wounding, vows to become a  
> wonder
> tale teller in spite of those whose long list of letters speak not  
> of ogham
> in six easy lessons.
>
> The spelling of chains and terrible fetters, no secret language, no
> truth-telling shield or bearla filidh, no knowledge of ancestors or  
> toiling
> in Lismore, Armagh and Clogher. You speak not of they who wrought  
> hard won
> eces, but of your own dissapointments and failures, mister  
> progressive.
>
> You the one who began a public scrap, polite and studious concealing  
> your
> ire behind plain meaningless words, were impelled by that which  
> sought to
> topple a poet with ten times your talent, and i as your *lunatic*  
> chum, by
> mental illness made into imbas and the genuine British poetic, cast  
> vast
> drafts of mighty death spells on your contention cock -- seek now to  
> teach
> you of sparring with Jeff's id 'n ego pretending it all doesn't  
> matter.