The times are squalid. They always were. It is a poet's duty to hold the line.
Basil BuntingThe mason stirs.
Words!
Pens are too light.
Take a chisel to write.
Men are fools to invest in real estate.
Basil BuntingAlways carry a corkscrew and the wine shall provide itself.
Basil BuntingTag: advice wine food-and-drink
...and always the cutting out and the buggering about and the buggering about and the rewriting and so on...
Basil BuntingTag: writing
It tastes good, garlic and salt in it,
with the half-sweet white wine of Orvieto
on scanty grass under great trees
where the ramparts cuddle Lucca.
It sounds right, spoken on the ridge
between marine olives and hillside
blue figs, under the breeze fresh
with pollen of Apennine sage.
It feels soft, weed thick in the cave
and the smooth wet riddance of Antonietta’s
bathing suit, mouth ajar for
submarine Amalfitan kisses.
It looks well on the page, but never
well enough. Something is lost
when wind, sun, sea upbraid
justly an unconvinced deserter.
Tag: writing
Poet appointed dare not decline
to walk among the bogus...
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