François Villon

François Villon knew the streets.
François Villon knew the streets and he called the streets he knew “Shit” or in French «Merde».
I used Google translate to translate “Shit” into «Merde».
I think the next story I write will be in Portuguese. I am very excited.
François Villon knew the streets and he knew every swear word there was such as: merde, putain, chiant, salope, foutre, con, nique ta mere, ta gueule, casse-to, c’est des conneries.
I don’t know the streets as good as François Villon knew the streets but I know Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits. Thank you George Carlin.
François Villon knew the streets and his poetry is full of street jargon, argot, cant, dialect, idiom, jargon, jive talk, language, lingo, lingua franca, native tongue, parlance, patois, patter, phraseology, slang, speech, street talk etc etc…
François Villon knew the streets and his poetry is full of bandits burglars, cat burglars, clips, criminals, crooks, defalcators, embezzlers, highway robbers, hijackers, holdup artists, housebreakers, kleptomaniacs, larceners, larcenists, lifters, moonlighters, muggers, owls, pickpockets, pilferers, plunderers, porch climbers, purloiners, robbers, scroungers, shoplifters, stealers, stickup artists, swindlers etc etc…
While writing this I wrote this: Estou escrevendo a sua história. Você está deitado no banco traseiro de um carro. Eu suspeito que sua boceta está molhado com secreções quente. O inchaço vai e vem. Você está ofegante, embora suas vias aéreas estão desobstruídas. Eu vejo você narinas dilatam, flare. Minha mão está no seu peito esquerdo. É macio, morno sob as camadas de tecido, estou a pensar sobre os diferentes métodos que podem se comunicar, o seu peito e minha mão esquerda, eles são tão diferentes, mas não estrangeiros.
François Villon knew the streets like Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, like Ben Johnson like a thousand other writers and poets and painters and actors that begged borrowed and stole.
François Villon knew the streets but he also knew the inside of a cell the same as Cervantes, Verlaine, and Genet.
François Villon knew the streets and he knew the bawd, call girl, concubine, courtesan, fallen woman, floozy, harlot, hustler, lady of the evening, moll, nymphomaniac, painted, streetwalker, strumpet, whore, woman of the streets, working girl and he messed around with the call girl, courtesan, fallen woman, floozy, hooker, hussy, lady of the evening, loose woman, nymphomaniac, painted woman, slut, streetwalker, strumpet, tramp, whore and he wasted his money on the call girl, doxy,  fallen woman, harlot, hooker, hustler, lady of the evening, streetwalker, strumpet, tramp, working girl etc, etc…
François Villon knew the streets, the shops, the bars, the cafés, the coffeehouses, the pubs, the bars, the whorehouses, the pavements, the gutters, the drains.
John Sidney Blyth Barrymore played François Villon in the movies.
Poverty always stings, cried François Villon.
In English poetry there is no free verse this is the bane of the English tongue, each time the tongue moves around the mouth it produces rhythm and inevitably meter. No such thing as free verse, nothing’s free.
François Villon knew the streets, not in the same way as a taxi driver knows the streets, he knew his way around Paris, the best getaways, the best holes to disappear down, the best places to duck and hide out.
François Villon lived a life on the lam, one foot in front of the other, the result of a life on the rob, a life of riotous living.

Paul Kavanagh

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