This is eveident from Kafka's writing. Not sure what chord you are trying to
hit here Bob. I did like it and maybe need to think about it. It's that
Prague thing again isn't it?
bw
James
>From: Bob Cooper <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: [THE-WORKS] Imagine
>Date: Tue, 20 Sep 2005 10:04:17 +0000
>
>One to help fll the blank space that's my e-mail in-box at the moment!
>There's words in Italics that look like this: *italics*
>All comments, critical or otherwise, welcome!
>
>Imagine
>*Kafka In Prague*
>
>When no-friends-Franz got drunk
>he wouldn’t go home in the February fog
>but wander the streets, uphill, always uphill,
>trying doors of houses where no lights showed
>and if people who knew him saw him they’d pass by
>
>until, wet haired and damp faced, out of breath near the castle,
>he’d say, *It’s not natural to leave the place where one’s hated,*
>then he’d turn round and stumble home, step after step,
>where he knew where everything was, even his thoughts,
>and sit in his damp clothes, and shiver, and write.
>
>Bob Cooper
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