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Click hereI know Paris.
It's black and white,
fits on a small screen.
There's a little jazz club there,
where Paul Newman
and Sidney Poitier play,
but they’re no actors.
They're struggling jazz musicians.
Sidney is pragmatic. Paul,
a dreamer, is lost somewhere
between the smoky cavern
of restless blues and the lure
of responsibility, personified
by his cassoulet-cooking mistress.
Once Louis Armstrong played
at the club. He wasn't Louis
Armstrong though, but Wild Man Moore.
Even so, the small screen knows
he's a jazz king, and so will you
when you see him arrive
victorious at the Gard du Nord,
carried off by the jubilant crowd.
Anytime now Joanne Woodward
and Dianne Carroll will enter
this mise-en-scène, only to complicate
Paul's and Sidney's carefree lives
by being women.
Relationships will bud, love
will bloom and meander along
the moonlit Seine. There will be
passionate rain-slicked kisses.,
promises will be made and broken,
Madame Cassoulet will not be pleased.
I watch Paris unfold like a flower,
but I am passive as a pint of sky
poured into the living-room chair.
Unmoved, I understand
Sidney's reluctance to return
to the States, and approve
Paul's choice to stay with Joanne.
This is my Paris.
I’m not leaving, I'm staying,
sitting at a table toward the back
of that club, listening
to the soundtrack play.
Take the lost generation and move it to the 50s and 60s. What do you have? A jazzy beatnik view of love and hate and love as scene through the idiot tube of yesteryear. Interesting vocal presentation. Kind of meanders through my mind with a slow tophat beat with infrequent pauses for a drag off of a cigarette.
sorry, must have Clockwork Orange on the brain.
If anyone is interested... the CD is Paris by Malcolm McLaren and Catherine Deneuve on it is divine...
PS... Once again, You know paris...
jim : )
without the mention of actual entertainers' names. They make the poem too earthbound, too literal, and the delightful imagery is rendered more prosaic. This almost reads like a news article "who's who" in Paris and I suspect that is not what you intended....
my favorite line...and keep the title, in my opinion...thanks.
...my favorite line...keep the title, in my opinion...thanks.
Reltne's suggestion is excellent. Other than that, it's just wonderful.
I watch Paris unfold like a flower,
but I am passive as a pint of sky
poured into the living-room chair.
Unmoved, I understand
Sidney's reluctance to return
to the States, and approve
Paul's choice to stay with Joanne.
wow :)
I like Paris. . . It is just too bad that the French live there.
They are not my favorite people of the moment.
Nice feel to the poem; good imagery and contrast.
I would prefer the first line as the title. It is stronger than the one you have used, IMO.
You little music voyeur. The location, the characters,
your soul: they all blend well in this dazed poem about
freedom to live w/o our tags and mistakes, to live with the
.... the dream. You found what I would call a nice corner
bar with one hell of a jukebox.
~I watch Paris unfold like a flower,
but I am passive as a pint of sky
poured into the living-room chair.~
"passive as a pint of sky"
God I love that line.
i see the black and white movie, the rain slicked streets, cigarette smoke in the air
I have never had any desire to go to Paris...but I think I could live in Yours
Thank you Ange