Thursday, January 13, 2011

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Getting lost in Paris, Spring of Poets in the Saint Sulpice metro

Memories of a random visit to Paris Sunday, Jan. 2. Departure from Montparnasse station and then metro to Saint Sulpice, a small exploration of St Germain des Pres and the Museum of the Middle Ages, before taking the direction of the prison to see the exhibition "Monuments , Stars of the 7th Art ". Output side trip along the Seine Conciergerie, before passing the courthouse and its small square and then on the Pont Neuf, turning left on the banks of the Seine, passing through the courtyard of the Louvre, where thousands of tourists line up, then through the Jardin des Tuileries, Place de la Concorde right to rue Royale, left rue du Faubourg Saint Honore, while right up to the Elysee, then return from the Metro Miromesnil.

Incidentally, exhibitions of poetry poets Spring 2009 on the theme of the city, metro Saint Sulpice:

Getting lost - Tribute to Jean Tardieu

We get lost without being seen, we
seen and lost.
It is barely visible,
it has hardly seen
we do not know,
we do not know.

We lost scarcely seen.
Barely seen, it is lost.
Just lost, see ya.

It is not lost.

Dominique November 12, 2008 Dodger.


Unpublished Poem

I love the city and its busy
And their incandescent lights
When they smile occasionally
a passer
If I happen to be passing this
I plunged back into adolescence, for a moment

The city has at times
Beautiful sunsets
That is invented a smile, looking
The beauty of another smile
Who leaves a bit of youth starting afresh

I love the city and its unknown shores
Where we landed without knowing
If we swim, if it floats
So let's drop
hours ago
indistinguishable in places that do not exist anymore

Or And neither victims nor perpetrators
Have sudden sense of time

The city is full of chances
Who we are building a life
And these passions, these restless
This is the life that clashes
And desires that swirl is
better than boredom silent
There is always a wharf, bar
The silhouette of a girl
The echoes of laughter of children

The city where all people are unaware
Without taking time to exist
She knows intimate moments
There are looks that come alive
And friends in cafes
This city that devours us
She evenings protracted
And the sweetness knows
She likes to win undecided
hours and moments of eternity

Matthias Vincenot.


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