“Wilco, milady,” I said when she asked me. She knew I had some
appreciation for the poet, plus a few papers handed down to me by the
author himself.
So, on behalf of the dowager baroness, here we go. I’ll gather whatever
I’m able (and cull and add what the reader throws at me, if minimally
relevant) about Carles Reig – doomed minor poet.
(And therefore, as any minor, dutifully raped by the stern pedophiliac
judges of good taste and strict propriety. Disgusting thugs. After the
rape, it always follows, he was sent to prison, where he met with a most
gruesome death.)
(Just the highlights here, though. No rummy rerun of his rather boring
life. Just the highlights – mediocre dim highlights, alas, and therefore,
namely, the texts.)
(Indeed, while it lasted, shunned by the shallow and the sourly exquisite, he
marinated in obscurity – and wouldn’t it be kind now if we helped,
albeit a trifle, to maintain him half-afloat, as is the case with any obdurate floater...? To
this we’ll zealously strive, milady. Promise.)
