Yes, David, I saw you waving and I waved back, You must have been thinking
about all the fun you were going to have waiting in the Dallas airport and
didn't even notice me waving back. Too bad, I put on quite a show.
In re: Pessoa.-- never heard of the man. That shouldn't be much of a
suprise. Not when you consider how many billions of men there are in the
world to know, you know? And yet, there's not one Pessoa to mention in all
of Memphis. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of men here, oh yeah, yes
indeed -- tobacco chewing, phlegm hawking, crotch grabbing men by the
barrel full here but none named Pessoa.. Not that I know of at least. But
then I don't know every man in Memphis. Could be that one of them is named
Pessoa, if not by last name, then maybe first or middle name. Maybe, you
know? Just maybe just one of them is named Pessoa -- out of a city of close
to a million it's hard to believe that not one person is named Pessoa --
what are the chances, eh? But then I don't know of any men named Pissonme
either. Not in Memphis leastwise. There must be a song in there some
where, but I'll be damned if I know where. So anyway, you say this Pessoa
is a poet. Oh dear, not another one. They're like roaches, you know. Even
Buddhists just shrug when killing roaches or poets. Trust me. I'm a
Buddhist. There.are certainly more poets than there are poetry readers, no
need to worry there. Some-times is seems there are more poets than there
are people,. What is a poet anyway? They're as useless as philosophers.
Jimmeny, don't get me started. At least I can fix you air conditioner.
See you then.
On Sun, Aug 7, 2016 at 7:54 PM, david ritchie <profdritchie@xxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
On Aug 7, 2016, at 5:36 PM, Mike Geary <jejunejesuit.geary2@xxxxxxxxx>wrote:
posthoodness. Hhrmmph! I'll double up then. That'll show you.
I guess you all just don't consider my posts worthy of official
Moi. A proud post polluter since 1998 or there abouts.
Just for the record, on my way back across the Pond, I first overflew Bev
Hogue, who once was with us, and then you. I waved loudly, and was
punished by landing in Dallas at the same time as about a half the
population of China.
In Lisbon I stumble, in what claimed to be Europe’s oldest bookshop, upon
a collection of the works of Fenando Pessoa. Everyone but me probably knew
that Harold Bloom praised the man. I’ve taken a shine to him.
Are there fans of Pessoa hereabouts?
David Ritchie,
Peripatetic, but not of that School
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