The poet Yeats had a real gift for chatting- up bright and beautiful young women, whose advice or scolding he then fed with lyrical effect into his next poem. Well, this column is seldom short on lyricism, but good sense is something else – and the other day, over lunch, a young woman who not only fulfils all of Yeats’ criteria but is armed also with salient Resurgence credentials, talked me to the following poetic conclusion.

We were plumbing the deeper waters of the notion that women can’t read maps and men won’t ask the way. Suppose then, there’s a lost couple, and we’re, of course, talking ...


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