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| Breakfast under the vine, Vamos, Crete |
A selfie at the breakfast table - breakfast itself will be Greek yoghurt, fresh grapes, peaches, sheep's cheese, water with a slice of lemon and coffee (oh yay) but before that I will strum the Ozark travel guitar. That should be poetry enough, yes? However, even on this idyl of a morning in an idyllic location and the astonishing chatter from the Γρύλος Έντομο, crickets, poetry is one of those great paradoxes, both an engagement with the world while escaping from it (I think Andrew Motion probably said that) so I will type what has come to mind these past couple of days. I am still on the Icarus/Minoan theme but before I do type on I should say that yesterday I stumbled over a blues tune in F#m and it has a Daedalus feel to it - the working title is Daedalus on Bourbon Street, so maybe that will come tomorrow. At the moment I am still thinking about Naucrete and this short (very) is in her persona:
...sometimes he flies alongside
my own lost story, a bird to keep me company,
swooping unseen out of the sun,my own lost story, a bird to keep me company,
gold-backed wings flashing before vanishing again...
Greetings from a Cretan morning, I can hear the crickets, the chickens, a cockerel yawning and this appropriate song for a sunny morning has just slipped through the shuffled iTunes, eyes wide open, naked as we came:
