Saturday, October 15, 2005

in paris with you

eyes glazed over, mind in bliss
how i wish i'd written this.
but if i said i wrote it, i'd be a lyin' skid
'cause the wonderful james fenton did.
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in paris with you.

don't talk to me of love. i've had an earful
and i get tearful when i've downed a drink or two.
i'm one of your talking wounded.
i'm a hostage. i'm maroonded.
but i'm in paris with you.

yes i'm angry at the way i've been bamboozled
and resentful at the mess that i've been through
i admit i'm on the rebound
and i don't care where we are bound.
i'm in paris with you.

do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysees
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
the little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.
-- James Fenton


Blogger Shelley said...

Thank you soooo much for turning me on to that poet and, in particular, that poem. I was looking through my stats and your site was a referring site -- someone must have been just clicking through sites -- it is almost spooky the coincidence. Anyway .... isn't it nice to know that somehow, for whatever reason you have for setting that out there today, it spoke to somebody? I must read more of this poet. Thanks again.

1:44 PM  

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