Monthly Archives: May 2014

Uncovering our shady past

London was a scruffier city in a scruffier time, and I was a younger, adventurous self in the ’80s.  When I was in London last week, I felt like a Sebald’s unnamed character in Austerlitz, peeling back different (though relatively … Continue reading

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In/Out or the In-ness of “Suits”

There are a bunch of “suits” leaning against a post, holding their pints of beer in the orgy of afterwork.   It happened to be Charlotte Street, in the funky Fitzrovia, now buzzing with media types from the nearby BBC. But … Continue reading

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London is happening 1

My friend keeps repeating, “London is the capital of Europe.”  Kids just graduating from Warsaw University, the “Harvard of Poland,” come for a few years and work at Starbucks to improve their English.  They meet sexy Italians and French, drink … Continue reading

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That extra pinch

Gray’s Inn Road is a street of news agents, factories and charity hospitals. It’s a shock to see an elegant French bakery, Aux Pains de Papy.  Besides a small counter, it’s practically an open kitchen.  They are luminous, wonderful people.  Two … Continue reading

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The global village is having brunch

My inner flaneur is excited, jazzed: it’s early morning in the city.  The morning mist is burning off and the hot sun rising over manicured Marylebone.  The haute bourgeois are resplendent in their Sunday rituals: expensive coffee, French pasties, a … Continue reading

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The novel Clio’s Mobile Home is a facet of my creative work. Several characters in my novel write poems; I am serious about writing poetry. I also work on short shorts, and short stories. They are all modes of thinking … Continue reading

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London State of Mind

I’m going to London this weekend. Clio’s Mobile Home is being read there by a literary agent. “Fiction with an experimental edge” was his calling card. I loved that…it’s mine too. He also likes first person voices, obsessions, 20th century … Continue reading

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Clio’s Poem “Le Soir”

            Le Soir The crickets chant an endless round soft, softer still they melt and falter you can hardly hear their dervish call a distant planet a rubbed-out moon they woo my heart as big … Continue reading

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