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I'll try to elaborate something Candice: of late I have developed a morbid fear of being seen as A Poet. Crudely put, among middle-class people it tends to awake a feeding frenzy in psychological vampires, while among lower-class people it triggers nihilistic crudity in limerick rhymes. I hate the pretension of vocation, for me it's a burden I wish I never had, I would much rather have been a bricklayer, for example, like my dad, at least it's a honest job. Poetry is magnificent, at times, yes, and it also sucks, it's full of phonies, it's all too much a picture of Us, the supremely misnamed homo sapiens sapiens. The very crude snap I posted earlier has perked my interest again: I would like to find a way to write rant that is aesthetically satisfying at the same time too, a kind of formalisation of fury, examples from the last century, such as Howl or the Usura Canto don't really work, the Jacobeans could do it at times, but that was their language, so I'm going to plot the development of a new form: the Gibberhell (I've decided to drop the the final 'e') More later. Best Dave 2008/10/30 MC Ward <[log in to unmask]>: > As you like, David, though on a Universal scale maybe we should be talking about remaining terrors. > > Bestest, > Candice > > > > -- David Bircumshaw Website and A Chide's Alphabet http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/ The Animal Subsides http://www.arrowheadpress.co.uk/books/animal.html Leicester Poetry Society: http://www.poetryleicester.co.uk