"The poets were like men preoccupied in conversation who happened to be passing through a riot in the streets, oblivious to the sound of doors being smashed down, the smoke of burning tenements, the shrieks of the injured, the crashing of stones ricocheting off walls, engrossed in a debate as to which metre was most suited to an epigram, interested in the latest gossip but ignoring the history of the world." --Aubrey Burl, Catullus (2004)
"all these questions
posed by your death . . .
sanderlings
probe the wave-washed zone,
scurry back from the edge"
--John Barlow in Tanka Splendor 2007
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