AN AFTERNOON WITH ERIC SATIE
To hear Trois Gymnopedies
transports me to a Parisian café
on a lustrous Sunday afternoon
sometime in May
Perhaps it is
the Foret Noir with wood beams
bisecting the ceiling, or along
rue Royale amongst widows and artists
Cylinders of sunlight
fall across the table
like ruffles on a schoolgirl’s petticoat
cups of espresso
belligerent and hot
fuel our desultory conversations
straining to be heard
along the Champ Elysee
above the chattering
of taxis and bicycles that provide
a throbbing counterpoint to the
sweet hum of a piano sonata
notes dripping
like crystal raindrops on marble
amidst curls of cigarette smoke
and the chimerical kiss of absinthe
Women with Lautrec faces
amble by drenched in Dior
framed by a sunset awash
with the tint of an ebullient Beaujolais
And when the music stops
as it invariably must
I sip the last of my espresso
and revel in Cocteau’s whimsy
Holy shit, Conrad. That was/is awesome. Aside from the fact that the poem is lyrical and creative, in the middle somewhere I realized that I was oblivious to the fact that I have had a long and often close relationship with the author. I've read his stuff in the past and never had that experience. Thank you, Conrad. You are a writer, but I wouldn't brag about it. Lazarus says, "Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of--but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."
ReplyDeleteI left out the best part, or maybe not so because it wasn't there. I hadn't read four or five lines when I started to look for the link to "Trois Gymnopedies" so I could experience what you was expressing.
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