Tag Archives: Quentin

Party Precis

Posted on May 20, 2019 by johnbrucecairns

I couldn’t find Hibernia Point.  Quentin’s no wasn’t on my contacts list.  I had to write it down on a piece of paper from his text before phoning.  He sent Dominika down to fetch me.  A woman waved.  “I see … Continue reading →

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Pseudo-Ghost

Posted on December 1, 2018 by johnbrucecairns

His ghostly veil was worn so thin Even he forgot what he’d spun it from. His friends saw through its transparency, Not feeling so much as the touch of a cobweb On the back of their hands as they brushed … Continue reading →

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By Request

Posted on July 23, 2018 by johnbrucecairns

After breakfast I was about to ready myself when Jean came. A later appointment had been brought forward and, so, her visit to me. Should she take her shoes off? “Are they difficult to put back on?” No. She wouldn’t … Continue reading →

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My reading of Quentin S Crisp’s Aiaiglas

Posted on June 27, 2018 by johnbrucecairns

I like the poems which are dated and can be correlated with the prose of Aiaigasa which occasionally refers back to them. ‘On the path I kissed/You, but didn’t say/How I felt like an actor’ epitomises self-consciousness. ‘The Café de … Continue reading →

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Book Launch

Posted on May 21, 2018 by johnbrucecairns

Dressed in my slimfits and red bootees I went off to the book reading, walking from Kennington, asking directions from an obliging girl, to Fitzalan St where it took place in the Royal Oak.  David Rix shook my hand and … Continue reading →

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Review of Quentin S Crisp’s The Paris Notebooks

Posted on May 16, 2018 by johnbrucecairns

The cemetery whose name escapes Quentin S Crisp at the time in The Paris Notebooks most likely is Père Lachaise, and the tortured unfortunate, who challenged Apollo to a musical duel, Marsyas.  He’s right – Quentin that is, not Marsyas … Continue reading →

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Revelations

Posted on August 4, 2017 by johnbrucecairns

I wasn’t sure I would go and if I did that I’d read; there was nothing appropriate in Mayakovsky to pay tribute to John’s communism.  John – not Elliott – wanted to go; of the Writers’ Group, he rated John’s … Continue reading →

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An All-day Party

Posted on July 29, 2017 by johnbrucecairns

Night before I prepared the guinea fowl for slow-cooking.  In the morning I started on vegetarian dishes from recipes I’d been saving: harissa roast potatoes, beans, tomatoes and fried potatoes, baked eggs on chard but gave up on John’s appearing … Continue reading →

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Wild Boys Party

Posted on May 10, 2017 by johnbrucecairns

In see-through red shirt I’ve had for over fifty years and Japan windcheater, off to Quentin’s party with champagne, cake, box of chenin blanc, card and Latin dictionary.  He’d said he’s doing Latin.  Wrong address directed me to right one, … Continue reading →

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Snapshots of Performance Art for Writing Group

Posted on March 29, 2017 by johnbrucecairns

I was feeling shoogly.  At Clapham Junction a girl took the emptied seat.  I wasn’t going to make her feel bad about it.  What did I have to do to get a seat, faint?  A burly young bespectacled man offered … Continue reading →

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