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When I asked if she read poetry anymore, she said no. she had lost her taste for it. That was how she said it, lost her taste. I asked how that could happen, and she said she agreed with Plato, or at least Plato as summarized for her: that there was something dishonest about it and that he was right to want to banish the poets. What she mean’t, she told me, was that the only reality was life, real life, and that these beautiful versions were lies and she no longer had patience for it.
