April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain...

Ah, skip it.

Whan that Aprille...

Eh.

April, the ghetto month of the McPoem.

(I couldn’t find an online copy of Hall’s “Poetry and Ambition” essay; go buy the collection—the other essays are worth it.)
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