Cheers Jeff.
You're right of course. We're all in the same race on this infinitesimal
speck of what's almost nothingness in the cosmic scale, and none of us, no
matter who we are, will be remembered in a million years from now.
That do we had was at the start of the year, and in the space of eight
months, has been played out. From first spat to kiss and make up in eight
months. In the old days, it would have been cause for a life-long dragged
out petty grudge nursed in the pages of the poetry rags, with a few hundred
reading - whereas now with the web, we can connect humanly because of the
immediacy of it, and with far more potential eyes to perform in front of.
Because i have stubbornly stuck to my own interpretation of what constitutes
a poetic education and training - i still have another three years before
the end of the course. In the old days, it being a 12 year run: that means
the past two years spamming speculative discourse, with all the unreadable
gloop and plethora of rubbish mistake-ridden texts, dumped here there and
anywhere poets gather - can be written off as juvenelia and apprentice-work.
From grade one Focloc in the first year, through MacFuirimid - Doss - Cano -
ClĂ, then Anruth in the sixth: to eigth year - all six grades below the one
we want to hit: Ollamh - Poetry Professor, graduating in year 12 as a top
bore who can talk as relevantly as any other who sets themself up as poet.
From Heaney to Silliman, we are all the same, essentially, i reckon.
thanks very much.
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