Reminds me of that old joke: A Texan finds himself in New Haven and asks a Yaley, "Where's the library at?" The Yaley reponds, "Sir, at Yale we don't end sentences with a preposition." The Texan thinks for a moment and says, "OK. Where's the library at, asshole."

I'm amazed the someone can be thinking about dangling participles when they read "Lifting her arms to soap her hair/Her pretty breasts respond." I saw exactly, precisely that moment when I was reading those wonderful lines in that beautiful poem. I'll take it over strict grammar any day.

--Robert Crawford

Logan was right about Dick's dangling participle, but wrong about everything else. I enjoy Logan's demolitions, but I can't find much to respond to in the poets he usually praises--Clampitt and Hill. You'd think that he'd catch on to these one-string virtuosos quickly enough--but he doesn't. I'd offer that a critic's reliability ought to be measured by the poets he or she praises, not damns. Think of Helen Vendler. Would we really want to go on her recommendations--Ashbery, Smith, Graham?

I just bought Davis's book BELONGING and am reading it with delight. I think that someone who can't see the beauties for the flaws has the poetic equivalent of tone deafness. It is not surprising that Logan would single out the satire for praise, since that seems to be the one area in which he and Davis have anything in common.

Susan

THE TEXAN AND THE YALEY

Dedicated to Robert Crawford

"Where's the library at," the Texan asks the Yaley.
The Yaley replies dismissively, as if he does so daily:
"Sir, at Yale we don't end with a preposition."

The Texan ponders quietly, considers his position,
retorts eventually with finesse and self-control:
"OK. Where's the library at, you stupid Yale asshole."