Posted by: bogpan | март 23, 2018

With all the Homesickness of the Foreigner

He’s looking for a job,
but has no shirt,
Rose,
and expectation even in the pocket.

Whether sometimes he doesn’t bend
to look how the Seine passes slowly?
Whether it’s cold
(that’s an author’s thought)?
In this circus gleam only
the blue glimmer of the knives
(which yesterday were pawned).
It’s a French movie.

Paris is somewhat little
for one grief
and nothing.

Compared with your arm.

Foreign

Advertisements

Responses

  1. this poem rains with beauty and sorrow… yet when I get to those lines „Paris is somewhat little/for one grief/ and nothing./ Compared with your arm./ a different feeling emerges…. fabulous poem!

  2. Ah, I’m very touched by these hearty words! This is a very powerful reading.
    You are always welcome!


Вашият коментар

Попълнете полетата по-долу или кликнете върху икона, за да влезете:

WordPress.com лого

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Промяна )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Промяна )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Промяна )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Промяна )

Connecting to %s

Категории

%d bloggers like this: