Публикувано от: bogpan | март 23, 2018

With all the Homesickness of the Foreigner

He’s looking for a job,
but has no shirt,
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.




  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!

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