Kurt Tucholsky (1890 - 1935) was a German writer who, from what I can tell, embodied the brazen age of the Weimar Republic. He was a political and satirical writer and quick to denounce the rise of the Nazis - by whom he would have his citizenship revoked and his books banned and burned. And … Continue reading Kurt Tucholsky’s Epitaph – Part 1
And then there was a man whose name I can’t remember. But he was scruffy, bearded and vacant. He was wearing white faded trainers, grey faded jeans and a faded black downs jacket. However, what was most noticeable about this man was the new purple and red backpack that was on the floor in front … Continue reading Unnamed
And then there was Philippe who sang for his bread. He was a down and out and wore an odd ensemble of clothes, including multi-coloured trainers and sweat pants. He had a bag around his waist and one on his back. His fingernails hadn’t been cut for some time. A red beard, a thickened goatee, … Continue reading Phillipe
And then there was Marjorie, in the red leather jacket and ankle length black suit. She looked like a tea-reader and her long nose, the support of quite quirky thick glasses, protruded in to the carriage, like her own predictions of the lives of others. She, like many women on the Paris métro, clutched her … Continue reading Marjorie
An exaggerated translation of Catullus 7 Just how many kisses would it take to satisfy my insatiable lips? Let me ponder. How many grains of sand are there on the sweaty coast of the Cotes d'Azur, stretching from the tomb of Paul Valéry all the way to St Tropez, where the grils are almost as … Continue reading Excuse me? How many kisses?