Following on from the 22 November post about the Villa Seurat crowd and porn sites, I was reminded of something Larry said when I visited him in Sommieres with Penelope in 1988. The French papers were full of reports of a paedophile ring that had just been smashed, or brought to court. Looking at the grim faces of the accused men, Larry commented sadly, ‘Ils ne savent pas faire l’amour.’ Which might also have been his opinion of porn. Or not.
And on the principle that in December you can’t have too much poetry, or pictures of Corfu, here’s a bit of both.
I am this spring,
This interlocked torment of growth.
I am leaf folding,
Leaves falling and folding,
Leaf upon leaf upon spray,
Sweet pod and sticky:
Buds that are speckled, bursting, breaking–
I am this hour.
It’s the opening of his poem Lyric, which actually must have pre-dated Corfu, and been written in Loxwood or even Bournemouth – but just now I’d rather look at a pic of Greece.