Rue du Colisee, Paris - April 1955

Honeymoon in Paris - Paris re-visited

Surely, this is a foreign city?

There has never been perfume like this

      on English air.

 

Sounds reflect the impression.

Can car-horns really sound nasal

      on a Pallas or a 2CV?

 

Why did the Taxi driver spit

      and say cochon!

            When given a golden coin

                  outside the Hotel Avenida,

in the Rue du Colisée;

      a tall, narrow building

            just yards off the Champs Elysées?

 

Nearby, a Café-Bar, a Tabac;

Drifting coffee on the air, and

Gauloise hanging blue and heavy.

Plane trees frame windows

filled with lingerie, which excites

The young men.

 

Schoolboy French brings a smile

      from the receptionist, but courteously;

            there is no mocking in her laughter.

 

An old cage lift stands near,

iron scrolled, cold to touch

      on its upward, juddering way,

carrying a young man and his bride,

to a room with a large bed:

 

A window opens to a courtyard where,

Listen.  Listen to Paris  - - - - - - -,

An accordion drifting,

Drifting on foreign scented air

Listen, and never forget.

 

Forty years on, Rue du Colisée,

The Tabac, the Café-Bar remain.

 

There is no Hotel Avenida, but,

An English couple still see

A tall narrow building and tap their feet

To the silent sound of an accordion.

 

John Berry  2002

Author's Note

Please comment.

Reviews

[Craig Bates]

I believe the great cities, even if they change and expand with time, always retain their essential charm. I think the fact that your Paris remains intact for 40 years is an excellent example of that.

Early in the poem it felt as if you were simply placing place names into the writing for the sake of adding names and I found it quite jarring but it's worth it for the turnaround at the end (and one of the great rules is that you have to get the Champs Elys�es into any piece of writing about France).

There were two parts to the piece that particularly struck me. Firstly was the smile raised by the 'schoolboy French'. This isn't a Paris where foreigners are mocked; they are embraced and the effort to speak the native tongue is appreciated. The people are as charming as the city.

The second thing is my favourite part of the poem:
A window opens to a courtyard where,
Listen. Listen to Paris - - - - - - -,
An accordion drifting,
Drifting on foreign scented air
Listen, and never forget.
The capitalization at the beginning of the lines somehow makes this feel immediately more significant. I can hear the young man, staring out at Paris and pausing as he speaks, surprised he hasn't been overwhelmed by it all.

As I read again there is one final part I notice. The beginning. I do think it's true that the cities of the continent feel somehow different on the breeze. Our English cities feel infinitely more gritty, like places where this isn't much time for revelry except when you're under the neon in the middle of the night. Less spontaneous. More working class. Or maybe it's just that I'm more used to them.

[Lily1111]

Reading this was like becoming tangled in another's sweet memory. Lovely sensory images transport the reader. Lovely John, just lovely!

[Jason Henry]

epic. its hard to comment when all i can say is epic.
...i'm sitting here and all i can do is re-re-re-read your epic poem.
...i knew i'd love this when i saw the title. but i'm stuck at EPIC!