he doesn’t even teach me anymore.
we used to fight in a civilized verbal manner about current events.
he was a bit of a patriot.
a cambridge graduate, on classics.
i would write poetry, and he would be the one reading it.
he doesn’t even teach me anymore, but we had some souvlakia tonight.
i thought that he should be the one to bring me out of my mayakovsky hysteric affair.
so he gave me a collection on contemporary american poetry and told me to read some charles simic.
as a bonus, three dvds. the seventh seal by bergman, an aggelopoulos, and the suspended step of the stork.
he asked me if i kept writting. and told me that i should send some of my stuff, at some place, to be published.
the fucking cypriot matter is not ready to be solved, he said, because there are people like him in society, who were taught den ksexnw songs in the eighties. the education system in cyprus was that of greece’s in 1910, he said.
we gossiped and ate souvlakia.
…after reading some simic i decided i like allen ginsberg best.
(p.s. personal message to you..: don’t smoke a lot.)