-
INDEPENDENCE DAY
It is Independence Day in Seoul and I am sitting in my room in the Ritz Carlton looking out over closed shops, traffic moving along the streets watching CNN and AFKN. The shops of Namdaemun are closed, you can walk the small alleys as vendors hawk jeans with mis-sewn Guess labels and T-shirts from the…
-
WALKING
He has been walking for hours, or, perhaps for days, it doesn’t matter since he is precisely where he should be at this moment. He is tired, so he sits in seiza and watches a colony of ants working away in a crack in the path, each doing his assigned task. He knows ants have…
-
WINTER’S NIGHT
A fog settles in over High Wycombe gray clouds shroud a full silver moon great beasts, sinews drawn tight, ready to spring forward, instead crawl along the motorway, the faint lights of London cast a glow to the sky, my breath seems phosphorescent, falling coating the grass, stiff in the breeze.
-
A NIGHT AT THE ROSE
Three beers over two hours and, giddy, I want to sing along with the Irish house band in my horribly off-key voice, just two choruses of Irish Rover or Four Green Fields. It’s beginning to snow outside and it’s a four-block walk to the Government Center station. I suppose it would sober me up but…
-
BOOKSHOP
Charing Cross Road booksellers woven amid theatres cramped sagging shelves an out of print Christine Evans, slim, collected works of those long forgotten never noticed a damp chill enfolds old leather as the door opens and shuts on a late February. Morning, my purchases sink in the plastic bag dancing as I walk to…
-
SEOUL OF A NEW MACHINE
I Apartment buildings sprout, neat orderly, so many headstones in a cemetery marking the gravesite of ancient rural culture. II A slow morning in Itaewon, for you special deal finest leather, best quality gems, but I prefer precipitously plunging prices of Rollex’s last chance, $6. III Apartment building faces studded with small satellite dishes perched…
-
HARLECH CASTLE
stones speak in lost tongues to sheep grazing by the wall clouds gather laughing voices of dead kings echo off cloud shrouded hills she whispers in dreams a November wind cuts deeply across the keep distant hills crying slash of claymore glinting in the morning sun bird with wings unfolded moss encrusted stones remember long…
-
RIVERS
I have never been particularly one for rivers. Like everyone, I’ve walked along their shores, listened to them gurgle under remote bridges but otherwise never paid them much attention. There’s an old Buddhist saying you can’t step into the same river twice, but that presupposes you step into the river the first time. I remember…
-
SUSHI
We sit around the Tatami table thankful for the leg well redemption for aging knees, and socks without holes. We drink the sake warm and cold, and the Sapporo from the oversized bottles each pouring for the other as a proper host must. Several recall nights on Roppongi, or earlier on the Ginza, moments lucid…
-
RED EYE
No matter how hard you look at maps you cannot find that evanescent border that divides weariness from exhaustion. You need no papers to slip across, no guards or fences will greet you, you may be well across before anyone notices. The return journey is harder still for you won’t have marked your way, and…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
an old writer and his words 