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Hamm:
Take me for a little turn.
(Clov goes behind the chair and pushes it forward.)
Not too fast!
(Clov pushes chair.)
Right round the world!
(Clov pushes chair.)
Hug the walls, then back to the centre again.
(Clov pushes chair.)
I was right in the centre, wasn’t I?

- from Endgame by Samuel Beckett


The Paris Poems – Offering #1

The Paris Poems is my most recent batch of poems, based on the trip Wendy and I took to Paris this past summer to celebrate ten years together.

As I read them now to edit into a final form, I am aware of starting to group the poems into different kinds. Having written eighty odd pages, I want to distill them down, so am looking for different ways to view the material. 

For instance, I have a number of imagistic poems about Paris, usually a collage of images which form an impression I’ve had about the city and its people. Sometimes the impression emerged while writing the poem. Writing poetry can be just that – an inspiration from a thought or feeling and then a re-inspiration of that thought and feeling as I write. Hmmm. May the farce be drool you.

Let’s see, there must be the sexy poems (mmmm yes), the funny poems (the guffaw of irony for sure), the heartbreak poems (mine, hers, it’s all the same, or is it?), the nightmare poems (mine, hers, never the same, or is it), the historical-hysterical poems (Jim Morrison demanding his stolen head be returned to his leather grave...), the love poems (can’t it just happen, oh there it just did), the hedonistic poems (the menu of extravagance), the spiritual poems (invoking the ghost of Samuel Beckett as he emerges in full scuba gear).

Well, you’ll have to wait for any of those. But here are some of the imagistic poems about the Paris I experienced:

Leprous Banana

Buzz On

Prayer

Statued Forever

Monsieur Lou Sid

Amputated Antelopes