Get poetry out of the ivory tower and give it back to poets

Elephant from a 15th c. bestiary (The Royal Library of Denmark)

Speculative representation of an elephant from clues in 15th century England … or … Academic interpretation of modern poetry in English, c. 2010

… ‘But, censorship aside — why does the academic infestation and degradation of poetry bother you so much?’ I haven’t yet replied to the friend who asked me that after reading the last three posts on this blog.

I could answer in two parts: first, that I suppose the fault lies partly with me. I’ve never given up a childhood glimmer of intuition in close sympathy with Mme. de Staël’s definition of poetry, c.1800, as ‘a momentary possession of all that is sought by our soul’. … Alright, I was a geeky, old-fashioned child who should have known better, having been born post-modern like you, readers – known that Modernism was about irreversible repudiation, disenchantment and disillusion, with no room for exaltation through the sublime.

For the second part, I might say: for the same reason I’d put the Kama Sutra near the top of my list of the dullest books ever printed.

What? that hallowed sex bible of the ancient Indians? is what I expect my friend to shriek. Yes, that one, which has never lived up to its billing, for me. (Or possibly the Indologist A.L. Basham, who said that ‘The Indian passion for classification […] led to the development of rather pedantic schools on […] sexual relations.’) I’ve found instructions for fiddling with the innards of personal computers a bigger turn-on than the venerable do-it-yourselves manual for the inculcation of lust that presumes mechanical contortions and not emotional and mental electrification to be the erotic gift that keeps on giving.

To see what that has to do with modern poetry, just close your eyes and imagine: your limbs are sweetly intertwined with your amour‘s, lips fine-tuned to the secret harmonies of lips. Suddenly, a voice that belongs to neither of you speaks. ‘Dopamine level’s rising nicely in both male and female subjects,’ it says. You look over your shoulder to see a large pair of tortoiseshell spectacles angled in your direction at first, then at the screen of a small computer, and then at another screen with a tangle of wires – with eek! …two of them ending in you and your partner.

‘Don’t pay any attention to me,’ a someone perched on the edge of your bed says in precise, forensic tones. ‘I’m just validating your trajectory from pre-consummation to full-on orgasmic attainment. So pleased your pheromones were gaining altitude fast enough that you didn’t notice me inserting my hormone calibrators into you!’ … If, defying all conceivable odds, you and your dear one do manage the uh, … usual culmination, … the all-knowing voice intones through heavy breathing a helpful summing-up with forward spin. ‘Excellent! Oxytocin and prolactin attaining high averages in both subjects. If you want my advice, kids, try and keep a lid on the prolactin – good for bonding initially, but you don’t want it getting too high as the rate of congress rises over the medium to long term. Can be a causative element in feelings of entrapment.’

… Perfectly ‘orrible, yes?
– except for those of you who surely depend on recipes for every meal you cook, and need food and wine critics to tell you what your own taste buds should, or could, if you would only let them. … What I’m saying is, I see reading poetry or experiencing any artistic creation as an intimate, highly personal exchange between an artist and every member of an audience. No intermediaries, thank you. Certainly not for poetry in English from roughly John Donne’s time.

I can think of nothing worse than having to digest the evisceration and explanation of a poem before I’ve had a chance to read it on my own — like many an unfortunate student of literature. Well, actually, I can. Infinitely more frightful would be the literary equivalent of a research sexologist straining to persuade me that if I would only consider this other position – I mean, interpretive possibility, I’d get over my instinctive aversion to those pinhead eyes too close together, … I mean of course, that shopping list for athlete’s foot remedies rearranged as an experimental Poem, and attain nirvana.

Literary assessments by a critic who is also a sensitive writer do not read like sexology. When Frank Kermode died a few weeks ago, the elegant NYT editorial writer Verlyn Klinkenborg had this to say:

In my years in academia, I had watched the study of literature go down any number of rabbit holes — chasing after theory and ideology and system. The very point of reading and talking about what we read seemed to have been lost in a kind of strangulating self-seriousness and alienation. That’s where Kermode came in.

He was drawn to the entanglements of the text and its rational mysteries rather than some scaffold of theory. In his many books and essays, he protected the reader’s freedom to be interested in whatever was interesting. That meant writing a prose that was never wholly academic and over the years became more and more open to the intersection of literature and the lives we’re actually living.

Could Kermode’s approach serve as the gold standard and guide to writing about poetry in the future? Can we ask academics to restrict their interpreting and grinding down to verse written in obscure, archaic forms of the language? Could they be persuaded to refrain from telling us what is and isn’t good poetry – or indeed a poem at all?

Asking those questions could be whistling in the wind, today. Poetry has been getting more and not less entangled with academia, as the lawyer-poet and critic David Orr has wickedly pointed out:

Partly as a result of the art form’s academic attachment, poets are increasingly knit together in complicated patterns based on mentorship, instruction or just basic university proximity. […] In “Laureates and Heretics: Six Careers in American Poetry,” for example, the critic Robert Archambeau smartly traces poets including Robert Pinsky and Robert Hass through their connection to Yvor Winters at Stanford. It’s a project that wouldn’t work (or at least, not quite so well) with Eliot or Frost or Williams, simply because times have changed.

That said, some of the inter­dependence in today’s poetry world isn’t a function of modernity but of insecurity, which is why you’ll occasionally find writers claiming to be “fourth-generation New York School poets,” as if latching on to your great-grandfather’s avant-garde were something to be proud of, rather than sheepish about. Presumably it feels better to be a poet carrying on the tradition of “X” than just a plain old poet talking to the void.

… But then there’s this internet, through which change – if enough people demand it – can come as unexpectedly as a sneeze. Nearly every publication of note in the old print world has been frantic to outdo the others, lauding Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom to the stratosphere and beyond. I’ve been monitoring the many very different reports on the book at Amazon.com – a few of them finely considered and beautifully written – by actual readers. Freedom’s standing with these reactors has fallen steadily over the weeks since its launch near the start of the month, bringing its average rating down by half a star to just three.

This was precisely what I wanted to see happen four years ago, after twice being misled by professional critics infecting each other with hype fever — steadily improving, credible, independent literary criticism.

So I’m optimistic about the net helping those of us who care to reclaim poetry for true poets, who want it left alone. I suspect that we’ll get the sexologists — no, I mean surely, poexologists, out of the way soon enough. ; )

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21 Comments

Filed under Criticism, Poetry

21 responses to “Get poetry out of the ivory tower and give it back to poets

  1. The kamasutra acrobatic gymnastic is like the academical theoretical pointillism not about free expression, but about learning the “right moves” to please the court.They both have nothing to do with the delight of being.
    They are institutional attempts to control the spirit, not to let him bloom.
    They are instruction manuals for aspiring social elevation, and by that already limited to mindsets feeling socially insecure.
    Poetry is natural to humans as much as love.
    The idea to make out of both a tour de force of a well trained obedient teeth less circus lion jumping by the sign of a whip , is neglecting their true sense.
    In life we have obviously as human to make a choice:
    social respectability or
    vivid aliveness.
    Sometimes the strengths of expression of the second is that much irresistible, that the first occurs “by accident” reminding the hearts of a deeper reality, but mostly the forces of a mad driven system controlled by obsessed minds insisting on their hierarchy importance& unquestionable “serious” dominance leads to temporary moments of solitude, where the own love for life reflects in the stars, fauna&flora&few friends and in a street dog who likes your company.Plenty!

  2. Nothing is more scary to a weak power than a true poet singing outside the traded cattle field.

  3. === Poetry is natural to humans as much as love. ===

    Strong agreement was my first reaction to this, but then I took a step back to consider your proposal. I don’t know of a culture that doesn’t have sounds called music, and as all human beings speak, I’d guess that some form of poem-making is also universal. … But then there are differences between people within the same culture and in addition, … that other word you mention. ; ) … After more distracted woolgathering (lots happening here), I’d ask: would you agree that while lots of people are unembarrassed about saying that they have no ear for poetry, can’t be bothered to read or listen to it, and consider its creation affected and unnatural … nearly everyone feels capable of love?

  4. === Nothing is more scary to a weak power than a true poet singing outside the traded cattle field. ===

    … or anyone with a true ear for poetry challenging ‘authorities’ on the subject.

    There’s a good, short poem at the guillotine-obsessed newspaper this week, called Easter, 1944 by a John Lucas.

    Responding to the usual, uninspiring, official exegesis there, Kevin Desmond — who entertains many of us by playing matador to the dim-witted censor-bulls in that spot — wrote a cautious, thoughtful post about possible echoes of the poet’s ideas and feelings in the lyrics of a song by the rock group Mike and the Mechanics. … It was by far the most perceptive comment of any I read in that thread. Unlike the introduction and many other posts, Des wasn’t overreaching.

    … Alas, the comment was censored, even though at least five other site visitors congratulated him on the parallel he drew.

    Now I have for some time wondered whether poetry’s annexation by the universities hasn’t split the qualities many of us love in the best traditional verse, so that its visceral and musical elements and emotional truth are expressed in good popular music far more often than in what academics call poems, … and the poetry they write and approve of reads like the mere husk of all that, encumbered with theories as complex as they are meaningless, and tone-deaf. …. I have never heard anything by this group, but enjoyed Des’s comparison. … For anyone interested, I rescued a copy just in time:

    *

    DesmondSwords23

    29 September 2010 6:19AM

    Hello John.

    At a loss how to respond to Easter, 1944 tho I attempted several different approaches to gain purchase on a central theme, heading up a series of cul-de-sacs in a succession of frustrating false starts; at first, assuming one needed to read the collection in order to yield any meaningful and intelligent comment on this poem, one went as far as trying to buy it from the Five Leaves website; but because the site doesn’t accept Laser cards, one was unable to. And when searching for more of your work (and biographical information) – hoping this would lead to expressing some critical insight – alas this didn’t set me out the trap also, (tho I did discover your five decade career thus far) and hence the – so far – pedestrian tenor and poverty of interesting prose about your potw I do wish to sincerely praise, but cannot because I know nothing of the poems in Things to Say surrounding it, I’m afraid.

    Sure, I found several other lyrics, but knew by the variety of your narrators’ voices, that any judgement of your poetry per se, based on this scant evidence from a substantial oeuvre, would be only of a knee-jerk and uniformed kind – should one have rashly launched into activating the mouth without first engaging one’s brain, and so really, at a stop because of this, it was not until pausing to think about what other bloggers had written in relation to your age; that some avenue leading toward possible poetic profit, began writing itself, when it occured to me that, should what I have read about you being born in 1939/40, be tru; this means you were only a very young child during WW2, and perhaps rather than thinking within a box where poetry alone lives, one could expand the perimeters to include colleagues of your generation in shallower ends of showbiz, whose music is concerned with similar questions, but expressed thru the medium of Rock and Pop.

    The English songsmiths born in the same era, whose overarching influence being WW2, you felt in comparison to your fathers, unexciting because you never went to war, unlike them. Roger Waters, for example, expresses this succesfully with Pink Floyd and as a solo artist, in the central theme of his father who’d fought in the war, returning never to speak of the horrors he’d witnessed, which left Waters only questions to piece together when asking what this non-communication meant. First as a very young child distanced from the male parent his eyes averted – the stranger who returned and displaced him in his mothers’ affections – feeling as very young people did then, resentful perhaps and confused, these young boys puzzling a remote madness and slaughter, as the aggrieved parties, until later in life, when you became fathers yourselves and recognized what England’s men sacrificed for you and their Class; which the ‘politically committed poetry, with sympathies firmly rooted in the Socialism we have shamefully almost lost sight of” – your eighth book – Flute Music, a reviewer writing in Orbis states, is unafaid to address

    Tho not of your immediate generation, born five years after the war ended, and more inclined to rock ‘n roll than the jazz bands I read you play in; Mike Rutherford and B.A Robertson, who wrote and recorded a 1989 Ivor Novello winning poem-song The Living Years – as Mike & The Mechanics – led one into summing up what I think may be, perhaps, the central theme yr narrator in Easter, 1944, is trying to reconcile:

    Every generation
    Blames the one before
    And all of their frustrations
    Come beating on your door

    I know that I’m a prisoner
    To all my Father held so dear
    I know that I’m a hostage
    To all his hopes and fears
    I just wish I could have told him in the living years

    Crumpled bits of paper
    Filled with imperfect thought
    Stilted conversations
    I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got

    You say you just don’t see it
    He says it’s perfect sense
    You just can’t get agreement
    In this present tense
    We all talk a different language
    Talking in defence

    Say it loud, say it clear
    You can listen as well as you hear
    It’s too late when we die
    To admit we don’t see eye to eye

    So we open up a quarrel
    Between the present and the past
    We only sacrifice the future
    It’s the bitterness that lasts

    So Don’t yield to the fortunes
    You sometimes see as fate
    It may have a new perspective
    On a different day
    And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in
    You may just be O.K.

    Say it loud, say it clear
    You can listen as well as you hear
    It’s too late when we die
    To admit we don’t see eye to eye

    I wasn’t there that morning
    When my Father passed away
    I didn’t get to tell him
    All the things I had to say

    I think I caught his spirit
    Later that same year
    I’m sure I heard his echo
    In my baby’s new born tears
    I just wish I could have told him in the living years.

    … So of course these replies to Des were left suspended in air, after the ‘moderators’’ axe fell – and the commenters look as if they were talking to themselves … stupidity piled on stupidity, n’est-ce pas? :

    goldgathers

    29 September 2010 9:16AM

    Pink Floyd?? Mike and the Mechanics????

    How low can POTW sink?
    *

    gullibletraveller

    29 September 2010 9:37AM

    gg
    Alternatively, how high can pop lyrics rise ?

  5. Poetry is the old transmission modus who lasted over century’s, before writing ever appeared.The Rhythm and the fitting endings helped to memorise and make sure the message remained unforgotten.

    Epigenetic in our perception/expression has to be considered as strong factor.we KNOW what happen before us in our cells even untold.

    The essentials of our humanity are love& communication, and cultural differences are very superficial compared to our all common basic needs.

    History, his and her story, who has not been understood or transmitted.let say, like the emotional disorder of parents who got send away from their parents during the war to “protect them”(the official termini) who missed their parents and later repeat a distant pattern on their own children,who distant them self from theirs with new mechanism of distance, creating new pains leading to new emotional inability’s….ect…the “origin of the sadness “got lost, but they might be an helpful echo in poems about it.The subtle message warming up the hearts through the shared experience.

  6. === the emotional disorder of parents who got send away from their parents during the war ===

    Yes, though I tend to agree with commenters who don’t see the feelings between parent and child that are the poem’s subject as necessarily related to war. …

    Might be hard for today’s twentysomethings to understand Lucas. There have been so many articles describing how tightly their psyches are wrapped up with their parents’; how they never really leave home any more — even when they live on-campus, in dormitories, they are in touch with parents on their mobiles, round the clock…. In the US they’ve gone from describing this as ‘helicopter parenting’ to ‘Velcro parenting’.

  7. This last described sticky immaturity might be the partial result(beside other,like evident economical ones!) of the old distant fragility.

    Some dramas unfold over several chapters and generations in paradox ways.

    But as we know that kinder garden children tends to act out “missing” cries the more parents(mostly mothers)EXPECT to be missed, we can question the parental need to keep the children in that embryonic household womb never ending imaginary pregnancy.

    Protection or possession, that is the question!

  8. === Protection or possession, that is the question! ===

    That question spins around in my head every time I’m with friends with children of that age. I never seem to reach any conclusion — except that I’m sure I’d behave much like those parents myself … partly because, as you say …

    === Some dramas unfold over several chapters and generations in paradox ways. ===

    … but also because I wouldn’t want to do less than other parents do for their offspring; and partly because I’d expect mine to make comparisons and wouldn’t want them to feel short-changed. This might amount to doing the wrong thing for the wrong reasons. I just don’t know — probably because these questions are delicious abstractions for me.

    I cannot understand how the children don’t feel suffocated. … Still … one happy result of your ‘neverending imaginary pregnancy’ … : ) ! … is that the children are often (by no means always) far more understanding about their parents’ reasons for divorcing, and cheerfully assume the burden of seeing them through the ups and downs of finding new partners. It’s rather stunning to watch.

  9. Lets not confuse the ability of children to “live with” extreme situations in their environment, they are exposed to and in young years have no real alternative,… as having emotionally “digest” such impacts. Often those who appeared as the “non affected” smart ons, are those who far later in life have sudden panic attacks,”unexplainable” depressions, or sudden diseases, once their protection shield does not work in their own adult life.That does not diminish the resilient capacity, but : no healthy life in a sick society! , and burdening the potential of humans to integrate stress factors has his limits.
    I see a neglected conflict, who might explain a bit this inability to leave the nest too. A worldwide revolt decades ago aspiring for changes has been not only destructured by the backlash of those forces who imposed their traded privileges with violence, but by the fear of many to change them self truly instead of repeating the pseudo “safe patterns”-A process often observed in therapy, of the joy of the new option, then the fear of change ,the old integrated warning signs who highlight the neurotic “adaptation as the only possible security , what she often was, ONCE! and then, either the risk & the new possibility unfolding , or the stepping back with even more rigidity). I remember many in those gloomy time (some consider as the “success” era of a hysterical power drunk capitalism) saying….”I cant fight for ideals, I have family now!…means the nuclear family as protection from the great human family responsibility.Suddenly the rats (et oui, I AM ANGRY and I consider them as having betrayed and switched border !) left the boat and “made careers” to provide a “good standard” to THEIR out spring. But by exactly that, they provided their kids with the illusion myth TO STICK TOO, of a “safe family”untouched by the greater impacts and a cynical delusion attitude towards greater social changes.
    Now, that time has been wasted, the failure of this abusive system are “daily bread” and the impacts slaps back in great brutality, the fragility of this concept is even more evident.Many starts to question again the parameters , and I think, parents allowing them self doubts and system critic will by that allowing their children to risk “to fly”. My parents who had conservative aspects but also the experience of the necessity to question traded attitudes, allowed me at early age to have my own mind, even in strong debates we had, and to experience myself “outside”their protective slightly bruised wings.At my birth, my father gave my mother a poem of Jacques Prevert, who is about the “best way to catch a bird…..by setting him free!”I guess, they tried their best out of love.

  10. Yes, I have put you in the same class as all the friends over the years I’ve known really well who consider themselves to have had an ideal upbringing — except for minor imperfections. But none of them have had easy lives, either. … What is one to conclude from this except that we’re all apparently supposed to struggle — and do?

    I was only making a small point. Which is that the exceptional closeness of the present generation of twentysomethings to their parents — huge numbers of them, not all of them — seems to have made them far more able to see their parents as individuals with needs of their own that might make it impossible for them to sustain the myth of the happy, united-at-all costs, intact family. The children know a lot about the parental psyches.

    I was thinking about that when considering the poem because lots of people born after John Lucas,, whose parents did not fight wars, have experienced a similar remoteness because of parental discord and sometimes, separation and divorce.

  11. I had by far not an “ideal” upbringing, as these are the worse unquestionable ones!My parents were stubborn ranters like me, haha!As Freud says, neither perfect children, nor perfect parents exist! But dispite our battles, I recognise that my old folks allowed me to “see through” the well greased mechanism of a rotten system pretending to be a perfect society, where only individual “fails”.The “failings”are more a result of the idea that THE FAMILY, as last refuge of love, can fulfil the expectation, with individuals squeezed down by a dehumanised society. Something went wrong, IF IT WORKS!Like, let say, the so called couples who “never argue” and end up in a dangerous silence. The “myth” of the protective family, was originally of the securing community, children could count on.Children still need that feeling, how “understandable”they are.Recently a nearndertal grave has been found of an handicapped adult, who demonstrated that they CARED, as he would never have survived to that age without.Mutual care is neurologically a NATURAL surviving tool.But I doubt that the “modern lifestyle”, specially the American dream who over inflates the concept of marriage to end in serial rose wars, is “natural”.The greater network is something different than that “ideal” hollyweird has exported over decades, strangely enough with his “natural” counter part the paranoia trip.
    The “wars” those children have experience are strangely enough the pretend wonderfool life style based on “exported wars”. We ARE at war, war against the future of humanity through total exploitation of the resources, social division wars, longlasting warzones to please the war machine speculation.This children EXPERIENCE wars, they have often no name for, as they only perceive the battle around the credit card,the TV control and the extra marital entertainments drama push ups, but are they allowed to see “the bigger picture” of the REAL war zone we are all in, or do they get pushed into the next brainwashed fantasy of “well functioning”little soldiers of neoliberal “success”? Prove us, that even if the worlds falls apart, we did nothing wrong, even messing it up, darling! Poor kids, who have to smile even in the worse inner disconnected solitude in a destructured planet.Lucky bunch!

  12. … All very interesting — from the special perspective you treat us to — but for me, a colossal subject calling for panoramic vision. Certainly too big for the available time, at present. … I do know from other people whose work requires immersion in all these issues that the results from roughly half the well-run studies suggest that divorce is better for the children than the alternative, when parents have been fighting bitterly for years. I would say that it all depends on the particulars, and the ages of the children must be supremely important.

    ‘Hollyweird’ … I hope you don’t mind if I borrow that, as in, ‘what’s Hollyweird today becames as all-American as apple pie and the flag tomorrow’ (said with a sigh).

  13. I guess, I invented that therm, but it appears very obvious to me to call that factory of delusion that way.

    I don’t say “stick together in evil!, But having worked with couples, it amassed me how I often knew more about both of them in few, then them about each other since years.The communication had been limited to some more or less common meta communication based on role expectations where none was truly aware how the other truly thinks&feels .I just wonder if stepping out the boat” and seeing each other back as human, instead of cliché expectations, would prevent both:marriages&divorces .But that would require a true will to question all traded functions, and I see the USA as a place who steeped back in the last into macho stereotypes serving other purposes and applied unquestioned to intimacy.
    Not much hope in sight, before the next crash requiring solidarity I suppose, beside in few enclaves of the braves.

  14. Obviously someone heard that therm elsewhere before!

  15. === As Freud says, neither perfect children, nor perfect parents exist! But dispite our battles, I recognise that my old folks allowed me to “see through” the well greased mechanism of a rotten system pretending to be a perfect society, ===

    Well I was wondering the other day how people would vote on the question of whether Charles Dickens’ mother was a monster. As I’m sure you know, for not quite a year and a half, Dickens had to work ten hours a day, six days a week, pasting on labels in a shoe polish factory – at the age of twelve. That was to help his family survive when his father was sentenced to a debtors’ prison.

    Even after his father was let out of gaol, Dickens’ mum tried to get Charles to go back to work at the blacking factory – for which he never forgave her, even though his father intervened and sent him back to school.

    The mother was desperately worried about them all still teetering on the brink of financial ruin. … You have to remember that there was no dole in those days, … so although I lean heavily towards CD’s side, it’s hard to see her as all-evil.

    Was Dickens right to hang on to his resentment? Even though his horrific suffering and the humiliation of having to live with his father and the rest of the family in the Marshalsea prison until Dickens père was discharged gave him the material for the stories so true in their descriptions of poverty in England, so profoundly moving, that they helped to shape the sentiment that eventually led to the welfare state?

    If we could summon the ghost of CD today and ask him whether his childhood suffering was a price worth paying for his place in world literature and the history of socialism, what would he say — ???

  16. Learning happens in all life situation and obviously his work expedience did nt make a sinister cynical out of him.His mum&dad might have had their defaults increased to a disastrous man eating early capitalism, our turbo capitalism aims to bring us back too, but they must have been a sparkle of hope of a better world, they put on his dry bread, that shines through him like an exemplifying glass into our hearts up now.His ability to integrate all those experience created this excellent precise&human friendly pastiche of society, worth rereading even more today.I call him a distant in time but near by friend.

  17. Obviously my spell checker helped me to write expedience instead of experience.A new head for my hat,please!

  18. … not at all fussy about spelling here, dear @antiphonsgarden.

    Too distracted to write back at present but I will, soon … about ‘a disastrous man eating early capitalism’.

  19. shawn

    great one Aca, but although I have to agree with you that the age calls for disenchantment, I think we are not left with out away to fight against it. Art which are not in the popular entertainment realm is considered to be snobby even in art schools…. it is un-trendy believe in art these days. people who supposedly have no ear for poetry just hasnt experienced beauty in poetry yet and are already too opinionated to accept it. I think we just have to be unembarrassed about our passion for these kind of things…

  20. Not a real reply, @Shawn … just saying quickly …

    === are not in the popular entertainment realm is considered to be snobby even in art schools…it is un-trendy believe in art these days.. ===

    Stunning. And yet it takes only a moment’s reflection to realise that you must be right.

    === people who supposedly have no ear for poetry just hasnt experienced beauty in poetry yet and are already too opinionated to accept it. ===

    Couldn’t agree more …

    Back soon, I hope …

  21. shawn…Considering the conceptual noises the snobby lot makes at “art schools” these days expecting that their banal attention seeking poo-poos gets recognized as “market splendour”, we can even be happy to be not fitting into their frame of mind. Congratulation, to each who survives the “spirit of the time”!.

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