Barry Callaghan and Joe Rosenblatt, poets of perspicacity, pizzazz, and
probity, have been combative, ecstatic compadres for over 40 years, with
Callaghan donning an array of chapeaus, the man of belles lettres and
hog flaneur-on-the-hoof from Smooth City, while Rosenblatt decades ago
declared his unconditional allegiance to the buzzzers, chirpers, and
purrers of the natural world, to remain at peace by his pond, aloof from
the human horde. This most unlikely pair are conjoined by their shared
dedication to the Word, to those rare moments of ascendent insight that
are contained in bedrock language, to disputation about all matters of
gravity and gullibility, and to the sharing of extraordinary paintings
and ink drawings come from their nether surreal and noumenal worlds.
Hoggwash, a convergence by epistle, is a tribute not just to their
enduring friendship but to the life of the imagination itself. There is
no record of correspondence like this, anywhere in the world.