The Wooden Bow-Tie
Our friend Bibi gave me one of the more obscure presents of my life. It could not have gone to a better person. Perhaps she knew of my poem about the Swiss : the Chocolate Box, the Cuckoo Clock, now the Wooden Tie and the Rock Watch.
She lives in the Morvan, that craggy bit of Burgundy that looks like the landscape of Balthus, and the tie was made by a Dutch acquaintance of hers nearby. Imagine that as a kind of business! Who would wear them? I would think you’d have to export them out of there? And I would think you could easier stay alive as a poet than a maker of wooden bow-ties, so I’m pleased to know that on the obscurity stakes, poets are neither the highest or the lowest. SC
notes from an urban hibernation 