Ah, that is sweet! It's nice to be missed. There have been a couple of interruptions to my visits to the cafe. Besides, the weather prevents me from sitting outdoors and I haven't yet got used to my indoor lenses.Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
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Ah, that is sweet! It's nice to be missed. There have been a couple of interruptions to my visits to the cafe. Besides, the weather prevents me from sitting outdoors and I haven't yet got used to my indoor lenses.Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule
A girl, as thin
as a wafer, goes by
in one direction, followed,
in the other, by a Khassid,
as shapeless as a pile
of freshly-washed black linen
In a doorway,
tucked out of the cold wind,
a man with a ruined face
and watery, beseeching eyes,
attends to his cigarette
Lovely contrast
"A wafer thin girl..." and
"...a Khassid,
as shapeless as a pile
of freshly-washed black linen"
The descriptions of two wildly different women, unless of course, the mysterious Khassid is also a wafer thin girl. Delicious to think about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perhaps the man's cigarette is the only fire available in a frozen cityscape.
The Khassid I had seen was male. Kassidic women do not (as far as I know) wear black as their daily garb but the most extraordinarily drab dresses and stockings that resemble the orthopaedic sort, and of course wigs.Quote:
Originally Posted by Makai
Thanks for clarifying Prince, I was thinking ir was something else.
A man approaches the café,
reels as if from the cold,
his gloveless hands
drawn deep inside
the sleeves of his parka,
enters, speaks for a moment
with the counterman.
then leaves.
Pom-pom bobbing
atop his wool tuque,
a guy with his entire face
organized around a mile-wide smile
plows his way
along Côte-des-Neiges Road
I love these short poems of yours. Little cliff hangers! And often profound!
I would like to meet him. I love people! I like these!Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
This is delightful -- your opening line drew me in, and as I read I knew I'd not be disappointed. You always paint such a perfect picture of your visions in your poetry. I pictured the fellow's huge apple cheeks, rosy in the morning frost, and a thick accent français to boot! :nod:Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Added bonus -- PrinceMyshkin has spelled the mystery word here once and for all. I never know how to spell tuque. :blush:
p.s. A person from another country was asked one day by a news person with Canadian Trivia questions -- 'what is a tuque'. Only about two people out of ten or twelve knew what it was. And a wopping fifty percent of the incorrect answers were that it was a 'lady's undergarment'... Oh the injustice of the wonderful tuque... :D
Young women
wheel their babies by
in strollers.
It’s like a mobile museum
of freshly-painted masterpieces
I love them all on this page, how you look at an ordinary person on an ordinary day and see a masterpiece.
Leaving the cafe
I come face to face
with a much younger man,
hair like red brick
just after a rain
and a moustache to match.
“Nice moustache,” I say,
pointing at it. “Thanks,” he says.
Broad smile. “You, too.”
Beautiful. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
On the occasion
of his late mother’s birthday
my beloved friend, Michel,
chose to quit smoking,
making her, even after her death,
the gift of his life.
A tall, pretty Khassidic woman
stands on the stoop of her house
up the street from me.
Beside her, her tightly bundled
two and a half year old.
I stop and address her in Yiddish
and to my delight, she responds.
Later, I observe that not many Khassidic women
will talk with an unfamiliar man.
“Ich hob nit kein moireh,”
she replies. (I’m not afraid).
In the absence of fear,
I think, walking away,
there is all the more room for love.
I haven't been here in a while. That last poem is quite nice Prince.
Now who is ending their poems prophetically?Quote:
“Ich hob nit kein moireh,”
she replies. (I’m not afraid).
In the absence of fear,
I think, walking away,
there is all the more room for love.
One wonders when this day without fear will come for everyone.
I LOVE how you sum up these people so pithily. And you see them with a such a kind eye. It is apparent that you love people. It allows us to believe that their is hope for humanity.
Assuming that "pitily" was meant to be pithily, I thintherely hope you don't have a lithp?Quote:
Originally Posted by qimissung
Just ahead of me
a young woman
pushed an empty stroller
followed close behind
by a little paddler
in a maroon snowsuit,
Paloma,
a foot and a half tall,
a year and a half old,
singing her own song:
Anh-anh-anh, anh-anh-anh,
It's pothible! :lol:Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Tho happy to hear that! Do you know that in Castile they speak with an intentional lisp, eividently because one of their rulers had one and everyone adopted that possibly to avoid embarassng him.Quote:
Originally Posted by qimissung
Thee you later!
The cafe was almost empty
this morning,
which made me think
of a church
in which one could feel
God’s loneliness.
I really like these and your ability to capture moments seething with ornate melancholy in the least pretentious way.
Oh, heck, if God's lonely, then we're all screwed.
(Loved that one Prince - I know the feeling, and yet, I kind of love it. Miss you!)
At La Moulerie
a middle-aged woman
in a tall, imperious hat
sits across the table
from an older man,
who mumbles his food.
A 70 year old Chinese woman
from up the street
turns her head
to acknowledge my greeting:
Djo sawn!And as she continues on her way
Djo sawn!
I note in the angle of her walk
the shy young girl she must have been
Awesome! I can see her so vividly, still a little shy and awkward...
I caught sight of a young man’s face
at The Mission, yesterday,
blind with self-pity
and rage.
An alcoholic since many years back
who kept trying
to try to try to quit:
booze, or life.
Volunteers swarmed around,
eager to talk him out of it,
as if they, or he,
knew what it was.
A little girl,
hardly bigger than
a half-spent minute,
bursts suddenly into tears.
Her father, a lanky Khassid,
bends down
and wraps his arms
practically three times around her.
It’s funny
how you can be out walking
on Waverley on a bright, sunny day
and you say “Bonjour”
to a perfect stranger
and when he responds “Bonjour”
that second syllable sounds like
What’s the point? What,
in God’s name,
was ever the point?
I shall affirm
the light, the day, this pebble
that lodged itself in my sandal
and obliged me to stop
here
at this particular station
of my cross
to notice this particular
mild-faced child
who rests his eyes a moment
on my face, then carries on,
having blessed me.
Wow you made this poem about such a simple, but beautiful, every day occurrence that most people would not even think twice about. Well written
Thanks very much. It's my ideal in writing these to stay away from anything overtly Poetic, but to record what strikes me as interesting in as straightforward a manner as possible.Quote:
Originally Posted by breathtest
A cyclist comes tearing up the street
at a furious pace,
treats the asphalt as if it were
continuous with the sidewalk
and goes racing off
into unclaimed space.
At the café this morning
I had a more than usually serious conversation
with young J-F
who confided in me
that his deepest wish
was to live long enough
to witness the final end
of all humanity.
It took all my tact
to keep from telling him
what deep sadness
I thought he had revealed
about himself
Oh my goodness...Quote:
Originally Posted by PrinceMyshkin
Thank you - both for what I interpret as your appreciation, and for bringing this back to my attention. It was a pleasure both to experience what I wrote, and to write about it...Quote:
Originally Posted by ampoule