la présence africaine...

we see them everyday

slaving away

their presence not in the way of

chained servitude

shackled by leg irons

but shackled by the economy

of marginalism, seeking

that better life

the one we sing about or

choreograph

the one where actors need

a darker skin, les exotiques,

viewing with shudders

of sensuality we seek them out

until they get in our way,

crowd the metro'd subway or

block our access to tourist

sites selling plastic towers not

by eiffel but made

in china by children who

are also starving

and dreaming of a better life

and so they stand

today at place saint-michel

and cry out their tribal cries to

gain attention to their

plight, a fight for humanity

bloginfo: One of the featured exhibitions this season at the Musée du Quai Branly is 'La Présence Africaine' and here in another part of Paris is a demonstration for the rights of 'the other African presence'. When will art, reality and history unite?

blognote: See my other poem, 'chanting in front of the fountain...' for more on this subject.

Café Fenelon, Paris

café fenelon, deux fois,

my neighborhood haunt, two times now

a waitress with almond eyes

serves my vin rouge, beaujolais nouveau this time

a rose @ €2 attached to the clothespinned "addition"

...'un trés gentil monsieur'...she calls out

blognote: my last night in Paris I bought a rose from a street vendor while sitting at the Café Fenelon for the darling waitress and attached it to the check and 5€ being held by a clothespin at my table...and I left as she called out a compliment

a silent conversation...

bon appetit!

proximity is cultural

how close? how near? how far?

the aromas of your food invade my space -

but my [ipod'd] music does not reach yours...

a silent conversation

blognote: sitting at the bar-brasserie nesle so close to the next diner gave birth to this silent message

on the Quai François Mitterand...

While walking to the Louvre on the Quai François Mitterand,

turning right to the Pont du Carrousel,

a ring bounces on the pavement.

People glance and continue on while a well-dressed woman

picks it up and asks me if it is mine.

It's not hers she says, take it for good luck.

Look it's gold, see the mark!

I take the ring, she walks away - and then returns.

Give me some money in return for my good luck.

I return it to her and walk away...

the ring falls to the pavement again.

blognote: This was one of the best scams I have encountered.

chanting in front of the fountain...

Everywhere the disenfranchised shout:

I want my place, look into my face, my eyes

and see me.

See who I am and what I want to be -

not in slavery to your machine

but in respect for humanity.

We continue to marginalize those of color,

the poor, the sick, the other.

So listen to their cry

that you and I can change that shout.

blognote: This demonstration was held at the Plâce Saint-Michel in front of the fountain.

to be alone...

to be alone in Paris...is to be alone

the sound of a language studied so long ago

can be music, somewhat atonal,

recognizable, if not completely understood

the movie plays -

the characters : well dressed, courteously aloof

the music: a modern score, not at all folkloric nor romantic

overdub audio: language swirls, a rushing current, the main character oblivious to foreign dialog

the setting: Paris, Left Bank, late autumn 2009, the perfect Paris day is grey

the plot: a simple autobiographic statement

action -

scene 1: buying flowers on rue Buci for the concierge, choosing yellow ones

scene 2: eating lunch at la Rotisserie d'en Face on rue Christine, blogging a gourmet meal

scene 3: walking tourist paths from Nôtre Dame to the Louvre, dancing to inner music

to be alone in Paris...is to be alone and content!

control...

loss of control...no black ice excuse

black macadam evaporating under your tires

tilting on two wheels

directionally a straight line on a curving exit

seeing only mud ahead

turning left while veering right, seeing trees

and grass, no road

the quiet, I remember the quiet while waiting

for the coming crash

when did I start to lose control, when did the

wheels stop spinning

there were no other vehicles, no traffic, not one

person to witness

my spinning out of control, then back again on

the way to family

to that familiar stoplighted intersection that is

always there for me

take it not for granted, not for slight, not for luck

that I continued on...

and found the passenger window open...why

bloginfo: Today I lost control of my car while coming down the exit ramp from the Glastonbury bridge to Somerset Square. The road was wet from rain and I was traveling at a high rate of speed. A lesson...