I already have Tarot on the brain these days, so this text especially stuck in my head. Also, David Jones is one of those people where I don't understand why they're not more famous. There is at least a Wikipedia entry in his name and, it seems, a site—but In Parenthesis is the only poem I know ever to filter World War I through Welsh epic and Arthuriana, equal in strangeness and language to T.S. Eliot's The Waste Land or James Joyce's Ulysses, and yet it took me almost a year to track down the copy I own. (This was several years ago; I can't remember how I found out about him, but I'm pretty sure I was on an Eliot binge at the time.) I love him.