Tuesday, 18 September 2012

Printer's Devils


Smells of Steaks in Passageways.  I like this poem considerably.  I've got into the habit of wandering round the passageways off Fleet Street and Farringdon Road when the office sends me out on a job.  I like looking down into the basements and seeing a printer's devil like myself drinking a cup of orange coloured tea.  The old men with their red noses and greasy bowler hats look as if they were made of something other than flesh and blood  -- brown paper and melted down string, I should think."

A Boy at the Hogarth Press  Richard Kennedy

No comments:

Post a Comment