The malicious busconductor would have to ring the bell while the poet had
one foot on the platform and the other on the street. (Ouch.) Those were the
days, when buses had conductors. Didn't someone literary turn an ordinary
bus conductor into Hermes Psychopompos? (Maybe that was Peter Maxwell Davies
in The No.11 Bus, one of his theatre pieces.)
P
> -----Original Message-----
> From: Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to
> poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
> Behalf Of Robin Hamilton
> Sent: 30 October 2006 17:54
> To: [log in to unmask]
> Subject: Re: 'drunk poet's society' (Guardian story, August)
>
> > How borjwazz of Hobsbaum to own a tape recorder in 1966!
> >
> > P
>
> He also had a grand piano in the room -- not so much
> Morningside lace curtains as the Royal Festival Hall. The
> reel-to-reel tape recorder was industrial strength (for the
> music) and a bit overkill for simply recording The Spoken
> Word. But it was there, so he used it.
>
> (As were the buses, no doubt lying in wait outside with jaws
> slavering, anxious to devour the nearest poet. Driven by the
> Busconductor Hines. Or was that later? Group III.ii rather
> than III.i.)
>
> R.
>
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