Seeing hordes of plump Barcelonans engaged in public Tai-chi–imagine Jackie Chan on lard–and reading of the dreadful internal purges inflicted by Johannes Itten–who seems to have believed himself a Tibetan monk–on Bauhaus students before the parties started, I remembered that I was going to translate a bit more Aub’s Campo cerrado. So here, at top [...]

Peter Desmond has translated my favourite aubergine poem (see comments).

… was one of the comparatively few in which I never sat, hoping that one day things would get better. Anyway, it’s gone. Here’s a memory from someone else, which I hope he won’t mind me quoting:
That’s sad - it was quite a place. Full of the strangest people. There used to be a bloke [...]