Ah, yes, I remember the 70's poetry scene in London (quaver in voice).
What fond mists surround those memories of attempts to listen (as an
unpartnered female) to conversations through a wall of tweedy or corduroy
backs (the very smell returns), in my ear the elbow mid raise mit pint. As
for speaking, well, the tweed had a muffling effect hard to penetrate
without standing on a chair to attempt eye contact, and perhaps I was too
young to make that oratorical move. How great that things have changed,
yes?
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
|