Comments

If you're cute enough, no one cares how bad your poetry is.... I'm not that much of a fan of Eliot, but this stuff - like most poetry - is utter drivel. Sturgeon's Law says that 90% (optimistically) or 99% (pessimistically) of any genre is drek. But I suspect that with poetry the percentage is more like 99.99 - and that's just what gets into print.

You manage to find some amazingly insane older books. I feel this one will soon be on my "please let Amazon have this one somewhere in a condition better than acceptable" list. This book does not, I fear, answer the eternal question of why it is that amazing talents channel themselves through such untalented people. Nor does it explain why the pretty ones are always crazy. But damned if I don't want to read it anyway.

Another gem. Also, am I the only one to think that Ms Doucé is unusually cute for a literary nut-job?

'T.S. Eliot' is, of course, an anagram of 'toilets', which would seem to be the natural home of the poetry on offer. 'Psychic', strangely enough, is not an anagram of 'poet'. The lyrics on offer have echoes of Morecambe and Wise's timeless sonnet 'Bring Me Sunshine'...