I just came from the Formosa, where I was reading this week’s New Yorker, and noticed:
Editor’s Note: The poem by Philip Larkin, “We Met at the End of the Party,” in the October 20th issue, should have been printed in quatrains.
That struck we as eminently worthy of blogcomment. Except Ben beat me to it. Which, as you can see, hasn’t held me back.
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