"The poems are simply a triumph of emulation and mimicry, yet they smack of professional banality. My god, Lionel, you must have workshopped them to death. If these poems had a soundtrack, Lionel, it would be Enya on Mogadon. If they were food they would be lard butties. They're stodgy. They're inert.
... I would rather stick forks in my eyes than read another line."
And more of the same, over at the crazy Salt blogosphere, right now, featuring Letters From Our Editor. More scurrilous than one of my own gently stinging ripostes on the Poets on Fire forum.
"Thank you so much for contacting me again on Facebook, it’s so convenient isn’t it? I’m sorry to have been unable to give you more positive feedback on your poems, if I may describe them as such."
Don't go there without protective goggles and a bowl for catching sputum.
"I think we’ll take something new on this year as long as it's young and Welsh ... Am I still guest of horror at Lumb Bank next month? I’ll see you there. Keep me a cadaver."