A tin of Sardines.
Mother by an assembly line putting tiny sardines into tins,
a machine did the rest, a squirt of oil and a lid stamped on.
Sardines side by side, in total darkness, wait to be eaten.
But first of all the sardines had to be smoked, the smoker
my mother’s lover, he visited her every Sunday afternoon,
and I was sent out to find a place that sold ice cream, even
when it rained. Rusting sardine cans, littering the wayside,
don’t walk barefoot in the grass at summer time. Mother
by an assembly line, putting sardines into tins, the smoker
had another girlfriend now and I got no Sunday ice cream.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
ब्राजीलियन cafw
Grey Hospital and a Brazilian Café.
The hotel where I stayed served lousy coffee, insipid and milky.
I knew there was a Brazilian café nearby, on my way there walked
past the closed down city hospital. Grey walls dripping of uncured
diseases, graffiti and dead windows. Convert it into an office block,
but who wants to work there, a place haunted by cynical doctors and
indifferent nurses who stalk the halls at night waiting for their shift
to end so they can get out from this place of horror, and patients
they have lost interest in and can do nothing for. Tear it down and
throw the debris down a gully. At the Brazilian café the coffee was
strong and healthy; the staff, young, moved as dancers to the music
in the background. There is much of Africa in the Brazilian soul,
passionate, courageous; yet, sometimes, viciously moody.
The girl who served me coffee, smiled with lips and eyes, her skin
dark, glowing… fit. And the sad hospital faded into oblivion.
The hotel where I stayed served lousy coffee, insipid and milky.
I knew there was a Brazilian café nearby, on my way there walked
past the closed down city hospital. Grey walls dripping of uncured
diseases, graffiti and dead windows. Convert it into an office block,
but who wants to work there, a place haunted by cynical doctors and
indifferent nurses who stalk the halls at night waiting for their shift
to end so they can get out from this place of horror, and patients
they have lost interest in and can do nothing for. Tear it down and
throw the debris down a gully. At the Brazilian café the coffee was
strong and healthy; the staff, young, moved as dancers to the music
in the background. There is much of Africa in the Brazilian soul,
passionate, courageous; yet, sometimes, viciously moody.
The girl who served me coffee, smiled with lips and eyes, her skin
dark, glowing… fit. And the sad hospital faded into oblivion.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
थे एदुकातेद stranger
The Educated Stranger
His dark eyes no longer smile, always well dressed,
he walks rapidly through town; speaks to people
but only briefly, and mostly about the weather.
Often he disappears for weeks, drives from town
to town it is as he is looking for something that he
will only know what is when he finds it.
His family, travelling folks, a close knit society he
accidently broke out of when he was persuaded
to seek higher education, he became different.
Travelers journey and he saw his people disappear
In a haze of road dust. A natural business flair,
he made money so he could retire early, and live in
a big house. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for
the irretrievable.
His dark eyes no longer smile, always well dressed,
he walks rapidly through town; speaks to people
but only briefly, and mostly about the weather.
Often he disappears for weeks, drives from town
to town it is as he is looking for something that he
will only know what is when he finds it.
His family, travelling folks, a close knit society he
accidently broke out of when he was persuaded
to seek higher education, he became different.
Travelers journey and he saw his people disappear
In a haze of road dust. A natural business flair,
he made money so he could retire early, and live in
a big house. His eyes scan the horizon, looking for
the irretrievable.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Friday, July 16, 2010
रेड necktie
The Red Necktie.
He woke up, fully dressed but minus his tie, on a lumpy hotel bed
It was a down and out sort of local, the last semi civilized place
before sleeping rough. It reeked of sadness and stank of depravity.
He switched on the TV news, during the night a woman had been
brutally strangled with a tie. His heart sank, he sweated, stabbed
by fear but he couldn’t remember a thing, total black out; yet he
vaguely remembered angry voices and someone running in a back
alley. Should he ring the TV channel and ask what colour the tie?
Or should he call the police and give himself up? His tie was green
with black dots on. There was rumbling from an old fridge in
the room, he opened it in the hope of finding a cold beer…. No beer,
but wrapped neatly around a bottle of whisky, a red silk tie.
He woke up, fully dressed but minus his tie, on a lumpy hotel bed
It was a down and out sort of local, the last semi civilized place
before sleeping rough. It reeked of sadness and stank of depravity.
He switched on the TV news, during the night a woman had been
brutally strangled with a tie. His heart sank, he sweated, stabbed
by fear but he couldn’t remember a thing, total black out; yet he
vaguely remembered angry voices and someone running in a back
alley. Should he ring the TV channel and ask what colour the tie?
Or should he call the police and give himself up? His tie was green
with black dots on. There was rumbling from an old fridge in
the room, he opened it in the hope of finding a cold beer…. No beer,
but wrapped neatly around a bottle of whisky, a red silk tie.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Friday, July 9, 2010
हाउ तो व्रिते अ novel
How to write a Novel
I like to write a book, any book as long as it has my name on the cover.
A one day course, how to write a novel. The course leader, a published
writer, wore a long dress but I could see her ankles, they were beautiful
and much younger than the rest of her. Dyed, red hair, face very pale,
presumable from sitting in all day writing how-to books.
Beginning, middle and an end, yes, like life, capricious in the middle,
the ending tends to write itself. Sudden endings are best, run over by
a bus, or a train crash, where cell phones go on ringing in the broken
interior. Then silence. Long ending are best being avoided, hospital bed
pages after pages, endless days, exhausted relatives.
Lovely ankles, did she paint her toenails red? She wore flat shoes
sensible for any woman over fifty. Classroom empty, they had all gone
out for lunch, I went to the pub and stayed there. Beginning, middle and
an ending, what more is there to know?
I like to write a book, any book as long as it has my name on the cover.
A one day course, how to write a novel. The course leader, a published
writer, wore a long dress but I could see her ankles, they were beautiful
and much younger than the rest of her. Dyed, red hair, face very pale,
presumable from sitting in all day writing how-to books.
Beginning, middle and an end, yes, like life, capricious in the middle,
the ending tends to write itself. Sudden endings are best, run over by
a bus, or a train crash, where cell phones go on ringing in the broken
interior. Then silence. Long ending are best being avoided, hospital bed
pages after pages, endless days, exhausted relatives.
Lovely ankles, did she paint her toenails red? She wore flat shoes
sensible for any woman over fifty. Classroom empty, they had all gone
out for lunch, I went to the pub and stayed there. Beginning, middle and
an ending, what more is there to know?
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Paris
Paris’s Five O’clock Shadow
Paris metro was a scary place full of robot people with glued lips.
Many ghosts they walked right through me and up stairs. I don’t
think robots or ghouls had teeth. I did see Senegal workers
knocking down a wall, they had white teeth and smiled. I know
the man who helped modernize the metro, he is a red beard and
often smiles despite he just married off his daughters, or is that
the reason he smiles, they could have ended up unmarried sit on
a sofa and never giving him peace of mind. I got lost it was night
when I stumbled up and out of this manmade conflagration, far
from the centre of Paris. In streets were women swam about,
they smiled and I felt like a halibut lost in shark infested sea.
Ten years ago one of them might have lured me into a cove lit by
a 40 amp lamp, I would have spent days worrying whether I had
contracted a venereal disease; there is something to be said for
impotence. If I were a bishop my parishioners would be safe.
Found a bistro; good food and wine much cheaper than uptown.
Louvre? I have seen the postcard, who wants to see Versailles,
this gilded whore house for depraved royals.
Paris metro was a scary place full of robot people with glued lips.
Many ghosts they walked right through me and up stairs. I don’t
think robots or ghouls had teeth. I did see Senegal workers
knocking down a wall, they had white teeth and smiled. I know
the man who helped modernize the metro, he is a red beard and
often smiles despite he just married off his daughters, or is that
the reason he smiles, they could have ended up unmarried sit on
a sofa and never giving him peace of mind. I got lost it was night
when I stumbled up and out of this manmade conflagration, far
from the centre of Paris. In streets were women swam about,
they smiled and I felt like a halibut lost in shark infested sea.
Ten years ago one of them might have lured me into a cove lit by
a 40 amp lamp, I would have spent days worrying whether I had
contracted a venereal disease; there is something to be said for
impotence. If I were a bishop my parishioners would be safe.
Found a bistro; good food and wine much cheaper than uptown.
Louvre? I have seen the postcard, who wants to see Versailles,
this gilded whore house for depraved royals.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
थे widow
The Widow
When my best friend died we, his wife and I, went up a hillside and
strewed his ashes about. The wind was against us and some of his
ashes landed on my lips. Going down from the hill, his widow was
very tender, clung to me. Back in my house we made love or rather
she made love to me. Inexhaustible, she wanted to do everything
even things I didn’t know about. I, being a man, enjoyed it, but in
the back of my mind bells rang. Finally she fell asleep, I got up had
a shower and sat in the living room watching TV. When she woke,
I drove her home, she didn’t speak, neither did I. A few days later
she took a plane back to Britain and I never saw her again.
When my best friend died we, his wife and I, went up a hillside and
strewed his ashes about. The wind was against us and some of his
ashes landed on my lips. Going down from the hill, his widow was
very tender, clung to me. Back in my house we made love or rather
she made love to me. Inexhaustible, she wanted to do everything
even things I didn’t know about. I, being a man, enjoyed it, but in
the back of my mind bells rang. Finally she fell asleep, I got up had
a shower and sat in the living room watching TV. When she woke,
I drove her home, she didn’t speak, neither did I. A few days later
she took a plane back to Britain and I never saw her again.
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