An Afternoon in Paris 1982

[Hawkman]

Two hours from Caen by train, in rain.
So this is Paris, could be London in this fog;
where’s the Eiffel Tower? Over where?
Well, I can’t see it. Think I’ll take the metro.

In a queue, outside a subway kiosk,
I mentally practice the question,
“Combien pour L’Arc de Triomphe?“
I ask, and comprends pas the reply.

Behind me, a smiling woman
taps me on the shoulder. I turn
and she picks out change in my hand.
I smile back and shrug – Very French.

Was I ever that young?

[deryk]

It's an excellent short-tour of the bliss of youthful ignorance and wonderment. I hope to be that young, one day.

[Delta40]

You sucked the romance of Paris out in a cloud of fog here.

[Jerrybaldy]

You have a jaunty step just now Hawk and I am enjoying whilst skipping alongside ( in a masculine way, you understand)

[IceM]

The internal rhyme of the first line, with Caen, train and rain, either intentional or not, was brilliant. That first line almost seems like a stage direction, or the opening line of a play to stage the setting, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Fog, preventing the Eiffel Tower from being seen, I take as a very obvious symbol for confusion, and it functioned very well.

Not sure what to make of the last stanza. I did enjoy the poem, nonetheless.

[Hawkman]

Thanks deryk. Looking back on thirty year old memories is like peering through the wrong end of a telescope. You have tunnel vision, so you only glimpse highlights, and everything looks so far away. I can still find the wonder in something new when it happens, but I’d happily shed the years.

What else can I see
through this peephole on the past?
Four soldiers with bowed heads
and arms reversed
guarding the eternal flame
beneath the Arc.
And then Montmartre,
skipping up and down those steps,
I couldn’t do that now.
The crumbling alleys of Pigalle
in gathering gloom, and Notre Dam,
alight, at night, in rain.
A shish kebab in the Greek quarter,
an escaped piece arcing cross the room -
to my embarrassment and shame.

Hi Delta, There was little romance, except in the postcards I sent home and I got there before they did :D Lousy weather and only a few hours in the City of Light just wasn’t fair. We had to rush back to the station in order to catch the train back to Caen. We spent three or four days there, time enough to visit Aramanche, see the Mulberries and the D-Day beaches, visit the museums of WW2, and far too many graves in cemeteries.

Funny JB, I didn’t feel Jaunty when I wrote it. My pace is slowing these days. Feel free to skip by …

IceM. Hi, but I’m sorry to shatter your illusions. Caen is pronounced with a flat aa sound (like are without the r) so it doesn’t rhyme with rain and train. I’m glad that you got something out of it though. For the last stanza, see above…

Thank you all for reading and commenting.

Live and be well - H

[blank|verse]

A little bit sketchy, prosey, and - if I'm honest - unsatisfying this one, Hawk. It reads a bit too much like a 'what I did on my summer holidays' piece and the last line like it's just been tacked on the end to try and wring some emotion out of the memory, but even that's nostalgia.

I'm sure there's something more remarkable you could do with this. (And I think the poem would be improved if you start on line 2.)

If there is something successful about it, it certainly manages to strip the romance out of Paris! :)

[Hawkman]

Cheers b/v, You're probably right about this one. I've been concentrating on writing a short story and I suspect I haven't really been in the right gear for poetry. It may take a while before I'm back on form. Did you think the one in reply #6? any better?

LLAP = H

[Bar22do]

Were I you, I'd pick the following from your poem:


Four soldiers beneath
the Arc de Triomphe.
Montmartre, skipping up
and down the steps (towards)
the crumbling (streets) of Pigalle
in gathering gloom, (Opera) and
Notre Dame alight, at night,
in rain.

and would sketch a story in this décor.

I'd also consider replacing "I couldn't do that now" by, "Paris long ago, but feels like yesterday" and placing it at the end.

Best from Bar

[Hawkman]

Ah, but you're not me, Bar.

I'd agree the opening two lines are superfluous but some of what you suggest trimming makes it a little too thin for me. The image of the four soldiers with bowed heads and reversed arms guarding the flame is indelibly fixied in my memory. I have no idea whether they are always there, or if the occasion of my seeing them was a coincidence of a specific commemoration. I never went near Opera on this occasion. I suppose I could have mentioned my recollection of passing by a very old and un-appertising lady of negotiable affection who was lurking in a doorway, but I considered it unseemly.

If you had noted my few lines before this poem you would appreciate that to me at least, it doesn't feel like yesterday. These memories are mere impressions, glimpsed as if they were hiding at the other end of the telescope of time. A distance of 30 years that feel like an eternity now.

However, I thank you for taking the time to read and comment and I will revise this second, untitled poem. In fact, in writing this response I have been stimulated with some interesting imagery to modify it. So, many thanks for that. But what did you think of the original post?

Live long and prosper - H

[blank|verse]

These memories are mere impressions, glimpsed as if they were hiding at the other end of the telescope of time. A distance of 30 years that feel like an eternity now.
For me, the poem could do with incorporating some kind of discussion of this reflection on memory. I'm not overly keen on the 'telescope of time' metaphor, but the workings of the mind and how we know things is all very contemporary and would push any poem about a certain recalled incident onto a different, perhaps more poetic and less quotidian, level. Easier said than done, though!

[Jack of Hearts]

For an old guy, you're pretty with it Hawk.





J

[Hawkman]

Thanks b/v, I'll give it some thought.

Thank you Jack, but I seem to be forgetting how to count! It's only 29 years :D

Best, H