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Somehow in ten years on tumblr I’ve never actually become cognizant of Carson until today, probably because I’ll admit I don’t really do poetry after a certain point. (When I was in school I always used to say that a real knowledge of poetry was what separated the English majors from the mere dilettantes.) that Tupitsyn (someone else I’ve somehow avoided encountering until now) you linked could inspire an essay in and of itself, but maybe that can’t wait. Personally, although I may have misunderstood what exactly is being signified by the your usage of the original quote (I myself being a mere dilettante) the place I’ve always found myself as a reader and writer is between Gertrude Stein and Borges, itself I a difficult (though I hope not a dishonorable!) place.

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