15 09 07

waking up in the golden light of the med
olive and palm
pass
hills bathed in a warm morning yellow light

This is Cannes, large yachts
my existential pangs like indigestion
- regrets I’ve had a few -

Nice
With an aim in mind
South through the heat into Italy
Genoa bend the arc that tips south
Green Liguria
the dipping nets orange amongst the olives shadows
Flat to south to Grosetto
with an aim in mind (this time)

Giving way to words

a kind of poetry in-between the pages of drawings and notes
my whim, my romance, my dreaming
like somnambulant mesmeric music.

I am at Il Parco hotel near Grosetto
In some hinterland, viewing across ducts and flat roofs
An orange sun setting behind deep pines
as if to capture the scent
light perfumed
a rich pigment

the moon thin crescent
towards an evening above trees
through a window - recollection and memory
in air

lessening light and memory grows stronger

this place
as if another Eden
like gaps in suburbia
the parks edge
going out another place
voices in the dark




Cicadas
as loud as the traffic
- you forget that sound -

memory not as stored baggage
memory as an alive sense

I put my memory into storage
or read my memory as a book
as a recollection
as a re-animation


Sat in the restaurant of Il Parco
totally Italian
slightly gruff
no quarter from the waiters.

14 09 07

On deck out with the smokers
The channel is a muted green
with ochre flumes beneath the surface
I feel quite groggy from the rapidly eaten full english and weak coffee

Mist dissolves the white cliffs of Dover
( or is it the cigarette smoke).

To Calais
The last train south of summer

It leaves its suburban siding slowly into the goldening light


Champagne in a six berth couchette
life can’t be all that bad
trattling south
through a Corot greeness


A moment of affirmation - recognition - remembrance

13 09 07
This time last year

The quiet sea just over the wall,
remembering last year the moon over the channel
the promise of the south

returning into a venture as if to go over it
to remind me or to realise it, again.
A repetition, the same thing but slightly different

The last trip, was it a wave good-bye to a youth or a hello to something ahead?
Ambiguous
A fear the dream has disappeared - or become normal
its death

Following a notion
not even an idea
as unformed as a whim

out the window into the oranged sulphur streets

Away now

Away with the sun and the wind

Lontano - Stagnone - Marsala

s p i r e

missing paintings


( looking for the ) september gap ( again )