Sunday, March 18, 2007

Walsh the Poet

I finally got a smidgen of Frank Walsh's poetry up at
(more to follow).

There's more about the crazed, chaotic, coming-apart-at-the-seams country of America in these two short poems than in a thousand delicate and irrelevant tomes produced by the much-lauded icons (dead icons) of the mainstream. Walsh knows the reality of America because like too many of us he feels the weight of it crushing down on him every day. (He's this week scouting for the ULA in the historic city of St. Augustine. Maybe he'll look for some poets on the beach.)

He'll also again be anchoring a show of poetry and theater, words and fireworks, in the genteel city of Philadelphia on April 22nd, at The Underground, cool cellar club, 3 pm Sunday, along with Philly novelist Lawrence Richette, the SuperPoet (put back together) in one guise or another, and a whole lot more. Yes, we're for real, in-your-face no-holds-barred taking on all comers, come one and all to witness what literature that LIVES is about. The timid or squeamish had best stay home.

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