Paris, Winter 1994

[JTParreira]

Paris in that night had the light
distributed for the drops of rain

Sartre and Beauvoir were not there

In Café de Flore, three or four
spoons of sugar drowned
the bitter taste of the coffee, they drank it
first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later

In my language I would write
a previsible poem

Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit.


J.T.Parreira

[firefangled]

Paris in that night had the light
distributed for the drops of rain

Sartre and Beauvoir were not there

In Café de Flore, three or four
spoons of sugar drowned
the bitter taste of the coffee, they drank it
first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later

In my language I would write
a previsible poem

Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit.


J.T.Parreira


This is written as though you are describing the ghost of Paris. It is interesting that the most somatic element in the poem is the bitter coffee.

I really enjoyed this.

[white camellia]

Paris in that night
the light
drops of rain

Café de Flore,

first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later


In my language I would write
a previsible poem

Other times, a bluish air bit.


I like these words.

JTParreira, was this originally written in English or a translation? And a French version might add some local flavour to the place where you were to contemplate and feel. I like the way how you painted the picture and connected the weather, the appearance of the city with some special people whose thoughts seemed to have a long-lasting impact on it.

Thanks for the sharing.

[TheFifthElement]

Paris in that night had the light
distributed for the drops of rain

Sartre and Beauvoir were not there

In Café de Flore, three or four
spoons of sugar drowned
the bitter taste of the coffee, they drank it
first my eyes as a ritual, my lips later

In my language I would write
a previsible poem

Other times, Paris was a bluish air bit.


J.T.Parreira

I enjoyed this poem J.T, up to the line 'in my language' which confused me as I wasn't sure if it was part of the poem, or an explanation of the poem. Could you clarify? If part of the poem I'm not sure the last 3 lines are needed, the poem kind of ended for me at 'later', but that is just my opinion. I loved the evocation of Paris cafe culture, the bitter coffee, and the references to Satre (who I love) and Beauvoir. It's impressive how you have captured what many people see as the spirit of Paris, in such a few short words.

[white camellia]

I also wonder that line as Fifth did, but, I like that I don't understand it which leaves me space to think and relate.

[JTParreira]

Thanks to all for your intelligent words.

-Camellia: This poem was written 50% in English and others 50% in Portuguese.

-The Fifth: Lines 8,9 and 10: they mean that in the Le Flore, in this night, I was felt inspired to write later a previsible poem in Portuguese (my original / native/ language).
But, I agree to you: the poem can stop in " my lips later".

All best
Joao

[TheFifthElement]

-The Fifth: Lines 8,9 and 10: they mean that in the Le Flore, in this night, I was felt inspired to write later a previsible poem in Portuguese (my original / native/ language).
But, I agree to you: the poem can stop in " my lips later".

All best
Joao


Aah, I see. Thank you for explaining.

[white camellia]

This poem was written 50% in English and others 50% in Portuguese.

O, so you wrote a poem first with one language, and later another, or there were originally more lines in your language following Line9? I never tried to write a poem with two languages, either Chinese, or English. But now, I could have a try.

[white camellia]

Ok, got it, very interesting. Maybe you can make that inspired one, the previsible poem visible here-put those lines together with this poem, since you didn't stop at L7. Thus to show the relation.

[Pendragon]

Good Jerry, but as you don't add the "previsible poem in my language", perhaps the last three lines are not needed to enjoy the experience of the coffee in Paris? A thought, only. I can almost smell and taste the coffee and see the small cafe.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[JTParreira]

This is the poem in Portuguese:

Paris, Inverno 1994

Paris nessa noite tinha a luz
distribuída pelas gotas da chuva.

Sartre e Beauvoir não estavam lá.

No Café de Flore, três ou quatro
colheres de açúcar afogavam
o amargo do café. Beberam-no
primeiro os meus olhos
como um ritual, os lábios
depois, na minha língua
mais tarde escreveria
um poema previsível.

Outras vezes, Paris era um bocado
de ar azulado.

J.T.Parreira

[white camellia]

Very nice, Parreira. Those who belong to Romance Language look really alike. But where is the previsible poem?

[JTParreira]

White Camellia:
«But where is the previsible poem?»

Perhaps here:

Paris era um bocado
de ar azulado.
or:
Paris was a bluish air bit.

Thanks for the question.
Joao

[white camellia]

White Camellia:
«But where is the previsible poem?»

Perhaps here:

Paris era um bocado
de ar azulado.
or:
Paris was a bluish air bit.

Thanks for the question.
Joao
O, so, that's it, the one line poem.

[Pendragon]

This is the poem in Portuguese:

Paris, Inverno 1994

Paris nessa noite tinha a luz
distribuída pelas gotas da chuva.

Sartre e Beauvoir não estavam lá.

No Café de Flore, três ou quatro
colheres de açúcar afogavam
o amargo do café. Beberam-no
primeiro os meus olhos
como um ritual, os lábios
depois, na minha língua
mais tarde escreveria
um poema previsível.

Outras vezes, Paris era um bocado
de ar azulado.

J.T.ParreiraA beautiful language. I wish I spoke it, Jer. I can piece together enough to read parts of it from what I know of French (my second, if you can call it that, language), Latin, and Spanish (which my children speak, two fluently-- but they keep telling old dad that while he can read Spanish pretty well, his accent is so poor no one would ever understand him!).

Pen