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Blue Box by Don Cox

Starry Nights
by Gary Boyle

THE BLUE BOX (Recycled Ideas)
by Don Cox
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So there we were, driving through sunny Portugal, getting used to cherry blossoms and strange place names. A tourist guide book can be valuable, otherwise how would you know that "Caldas da Rainha" means "The Queen's Bath". A few centuries ago the Queen went to the hot springs there. The smaller towns aren't listed of course, but common sense is all that's needed. The town of Bico must have been where the early Portuguese invented Bic lighters and safety razors. Junquiera is where you find garage sales and auto wrecking yards. Chaos had a confused population and Porto de Mos had racing cars. And so it went, town after charming town.

We finally arrived at Porto and checked into the Grande Hotel do Porto, one of the city's older landmarks. Imagine it's the 1920s and the Grande Hotel has just opened, sparkling in new carpets and uniforms. Imagine the attitude of the desk clerk and doorman, proud, elitist, disdainful. Now imagine it's the year 2000 and neither the carpets, uniforms or attitudes of the staff have changed. There's been no plumbing maintenance either. It's all part of the good old game called decaying elegance. The only thing that still impresses is the gilt work in the ballroom, it was obviously done as an after thought by the artist who did the Majestic Cafe half a block away across the street.

This brings me to the real purpose of a return trip to Portugal. I simply had to have another look at the Majestic Cafe. You cannot conceive of a more remarkable display of 1920s art deco, replete with thick leather upholstery, marble pillars and bevelled mirrors. It's full of Hemingway wannabes who hunch over their novels and notebooks while drinking endless cups of Expresso. But I don't have to go into a lot of descriptive detail, you can see it all for yourselves at www.alvo.com/majestic. Have a good look, be intrigued, consult your travel agent, plan a visit. Treasures like this don't last forever in this world of Philistines.

There was a small sign outside the Majestic announcing a poetry reading, and when I arrived it was due to start in five minutes. What a piece of luck! We rushed in and took a seat. As we sat down, there was a glissando of zither and sitar chords from behind the small platform beside the grand piano. Great Scott! It was my former travelling companion Ingrid Johanna Johansen and my roofer the Swami Prem Samerpan. Their gig that night was to provide incidental music for the poetry reading. What a coincidence, I was completely nonplussed.

While exchanging greetings with my two friends I learned that the poet had been run down by a taxi. They begged me take his place. The manager agreed, "I understand you are a well known Canadian poet", he said, "and we would be honoured if you would stand in for your fellow bard and treat us to some of your work, or any poetic work that you are prepared to recite." I was thunderstruck. "There will be a small honorarium", he added. That did it, I was on my feet in an instant and heading for the podium.

There were the usual explanations and introductions, and then I commenced my recitations. I managed to provide the better part of an hour without notes, some Kipling, a bit of Shakespeare, some Housman, and of course about half of the time was devoted to my own material. One in particular got a standing ovation.

"Why re-invent the wheel" he cried
And threw his hat aloft
And raced about the greensward in his stocking feet.
"The technique's poorly handled
And the market's soft,
The cash flow's in a boggle and the staff's effete."

"We must optimize our output"
Said he, rolling on the grass
"It's a slow growth situation, one of those"
His voice trailed off,
He murmured "Not in our class"
And slowly rubbed some sand between his toes.

"How can the cash flow meet the need?"
The sun was hot
His hat and stocking in his hand he stopped to think.
Had he heard an oriole
Or had he not,
Or was that tinkle in his ear a distant bob-o'-link

*****************************

I'll have some more traveller's tales for you next week.


Bluebox ©2001 Don Cox
Website ©2001 OttawaWEB


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