Last month's conversation over style brought a renewed interest in poetry to PulpRev authors and critics. Unfortunately, that meant I came back to what is a stumbling block for me. Poetry needs to be heard to be properly appreciated. Unfortunately, there is something about the schoolhouse that turns the reading of lively and playful language into rote doggerel. So I was glad to find a reading of one of Kipling's best-known barrack room ballads that not only sounded like actual speech, it also sounded like many a grousing heard standing in formation.
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