darlings
deia is glorious.
and we thought you’d enjoy these pictures we took today with some words from Mr. Robert Graves, who lived here and was Most Productive.
A Pinch of Salt
When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor stain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You’ll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.Dreams are like a bird that mocks,
Flirting the feathers of his tail.
When you seize at the salt-box,
Over the hedge you’ll see him sail.
Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff:
They watch you from the apple bough and laugh.Poet, never chase the dream.
Laugh yourself, and turn away.
Mask your hunger; let it seem
Small matter if he come or stay;
But when he nestles in your hand at last,
Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.Robert Graves
Morning Phœnix
In my body lives a flame,
Flame that burns me all the day;
When a fierce sun does the same,
I am charred away.Who could keep a smiling wit,
Roasted so in heart and hide,
Turning on the sun’s red spit,
Scorched by love inside?Caves I long for and cold rocks,
Minnow-peopled country brooks,
Blundering gales of Equinox,
Sunless valley-nooks,Daily so I might restore
Calcined heart and shrivelled skin,
A morning phœnix with proud roar
Kindled new within.
and here is a splendid interview with Mr. R. Graves from the summer of 1969 (a very fine year) with the clever editors at Paris Review – he sounds like a Most Complicated human being (we can relate). 
the houses are magnificent and redolent of lazy afternoons under palms with a tray for tea on its way and a novel half-read abandoned on the lawn. 
while the sun is high in the sky one walks and discusses Deep Things and then, as the night draws in, the twinkle lights come on and the sky is flush with stars, a small terrace (alas a small amount of rain but no matter), a late supper, tea at the farmhouse table and Talk of the future – or not – just dreams – or visions – with plans – or nots – or silent because One Really is not Sure. Just right now.
there is a curious comfort reading an Author in the land in which they lived.
particularly when one sees the vast mountain ranges and That view down to the water and the gnarled olive trees and the scent of lavender on the breeze.
back to Mr. Robert Graves:
INTERVIEWER
How many books have you published?
GRAVES
One hundred and twenty-one—but many of those are revised collections. Then I’ve written books for other people.
INTERVIEWER
Why have you done that?
GRAVES
Because they had something to say, and they couldn’t write it down.
that’s what who-we-are-are-RL has been doing for the past 24 hours – helping people who have something to say but did not have the (digital skills) to write it o u t.
which is nice.
and helpful.
now we go to Ibiza to do the same all over again.
it’s a lovely way to t r a v e l, darlings.
even if it’s the last time we do something like this before we do something else.
which, of course, makes it all the sweeter.
Filed under: people., places. Tagged: deia, mallorca, poet, robert graves, robertgraves, travel, writing
