Corfu Blues

1456hrs Jan 16 2013.

He's a wily bird, is 'Frets' Potts - in this case, 'Pentameter' Potts, I suppose.

Was taking his corfu blues to bed t'other night to slide off into Lethe with some decent poesie.

Brewing up a cup of Darjeeling, glided eye over his purple ... Greek Girl.

"Greek girl, Greek girl,
Dont make me wait
why do you make me wait?
you'll never find a husband, dear,
If you always hesitate."

Damn me if my pink fluffy slipper wasnt tapping out a beat and my tea-stirring hand pink-synching some chords.

"Greek girl, Greek girl,
Come walk with me,
Down thru the olive grove,
yadda grunt ... come live with me,
Make love beside the sea."

... Bring me my pick of burning gold; Bend my Bigsby of desire.

Nuther page, sheer Dylan:

"Love rejected:
You leave, wearing
A high black hat."

"Clear, bright morning in the mountains;
Sheeps' bells -
And honey in my yoghurt."

208pp of sheer poetry that goes intravenous to the heart and delights and inspires.

Even the Prose articles and interviews flow poetic on the page making that effortless readery that only comes with effortful honing. No wonder his Ionian Islands was such a joy to read and be led by thru the chapters.

"Monks in black patrol the border.
Behind the barbed-wire fence, a sign:
'No vehicles or women'."

All along the watchtower, indeed, except that Potts is very much his own word-crafter.

Lawd have mercy, I hate sounding Pseuds Corner or friendly, goes against every grain on the fretboard, but I sat there in that cold kitchen - transported. Damn'd kettle refusing to boil - the old one, twice the size, would bubble in a trice but this junior size takes like forever.

When I bought it Tasia was full of praise; I thought she knew the brand and was complimenting on my shrewd.

Not all - the chroma! I looked and sure enough its green fitted everything else - washing-up bowl, the pasta clenchers, the handles on the big spoons Mum always said were so good - the lid on Sam's food container, even the frigging cap on the Estragon jar.

I gave her a curt manly nod, signaling 'a little too gay, for my tastes' but my darling Natasha was agogette at my new-found colour-coordinated domesticity.

Just an astonishing work of pleasure and satisfaction.

Everyone coming to Corfu should have that in their knapsack, and those already here ditto in spades (good Django Unchained ref there). Thought-provoking.

• Super photos, plus credits. Typical measured modest informative Intro, and like when do you read the fronking Intro, ffs, right?

  Get right to the dirty bits, huh?

Chapitres:

Greek Music

Corfu and Paxos

Balkan Blues

Thessaloniki, Athens, Venice, Sydney

Songs

Prose, articles, Interviews

Appendix

Digressio interruptus ~ so the water's boiled in my pooftah πράσινος kettle (trying to use all the words Aleko's taught me ~ Baddeley arrived back yesterday, joins the class next triti and i'm damn'd if I'm going to sit there as he ripples off the classics.

I'll have him: "Oy, you ochtapòdi!

"Four octopus legs consumèd.
A quadroped now -
Or a tetrapus?"

So there I was, intending only to make my tea and retire 'neath the duvet with my clip-on nite-lite - shades of reading Wheatley after lights-out - suddenly trapped and transported by James's velveteen prose, reading on reading on, the music of his prose, lost to the world beneath the oriflamme.

I had the 'lectric ready to rock, the Ovation newly strung and singing ... and Jim's words rib-digging to be wrassled into rhythm. So much for bed and manually missing that maulable mulière.

"You'll never find a husband, dear, If you always hesitate.

If you've ever heard Jim rack that Epiphone bone, you'll know you can't do him to a Johnnie 'Dorset' Dowland acoustic plink-a-plunk - so out with the Phender and set to on 'Never find a husband' rag. But hold! All this 'Greek girl' roobish, all those references to 'Maria' - by jove, I may have got it.

That Maria ... she of Chunder at the Sundown Corral and Mavtouki Moggie, that Maria.

Oh poh poh poh poh! Had to pour m'self a tetrapus tipple of Tasia's Tantalising Tsiporo ["Jive-ass jocularity to the gentry"]

The hum bucked in my hands. Oh em gee, that babe would have led Jimbo a right merry dance, tee hee.

Pòte potè! - Got them low-down Levkas blues.

Corfu Blues ~ got the name? Buy it, I dont care. Little Jimmy also thrums out a decent blog, worth following but if you haven't latched on by now, prolly never will.

I'm snug 'n' smug with my Bookmark fav'rites; get up singing and crying.

Loipon, so much for my cosy nightfly reading. Drat Potts.

Vaut le lire. Take us out, Donald.