I expound Shakespeare to the docile Trieste: Hamlet, quoth I, who is most courteous to gentle and simple is rude only to Polonius. Perhaps, an embittered idealist, he can see …

In the raw veiled spring morning faint odours float of morning Paris: aniseed, damp sawdust, hot dough of bread: and as I cross the Pont Saint Michel the steelblue waking …

I play lightly, softly singing, John Dowland‘s languid song. Loth to depart: I too am loth to go. That age is here and know. Here, opening from the darkness of …

A skirt caught back by her sudden moving knee; a white lace edging of an underskirt lifted unduly; a leg-stretched web of stocking. Si pol? >>>> Giacomo Joyce 29 Giacomo …

She listens: virgin most prudent. >>>> Giacomo Joyce 28 Giacomo Joyce 26 <<<< Editorial <<<<

She thinks the Italian gentlemen were right to haul Ettore Albini, the critic of the Secolo, from the stalls because he did not stand up when the band played the …

The sellers offer on their altars the first fruits: green-flecked lemons, jewelled cherries, shameful peaches with torn leaves. The carriage passes through the lane of canvas stalls, its wheel-spokes spinning …

The lady goes apace, apace, apace ….. Pure air on the upland road. Trieste is walking rawly: raw sunlight over its huttled browntiled roofs, testudoform; a multitude of prostrate bugs …

Great bows on her slim bronze shoes: spurs of a pampered fowl. >>>> Giacomo Joyce 24 Giacomo Joyce 22 <<<< Editorial <<<<