Under The Influence
 A Poetic after the Cellist on Place des Vosges






Here.  Take this photograph.  It is Paris. 

There.  There is a woman turning sheets
of paged music.  Look.  She¹s getting ready,
her legs hugging the cello bottom, fingers poised
at the polished sleek of the neck.  Listen.  A wheeze
and wail of gendarmes are racing the square
for some spy movie chase scene you¹ll see.

Go away now--through that door behind her.
It is the house of Hugo.  Touch the desk there
autographed for charity, Picasso and Stein
side-by-side.  Come back now.  Come here. 
She¹s about to pull in dusk air on strings.

Take a seat at the curb stone.  Rummage
through your bag--through De Gaulle stamps,
artificial tears, baume pour les levres--get a tip. 
Make notes on the post-it pad:  Give her a name. 
Call her Renee or Vivien.  Take her photograph. 

Wander into the droopy-eyed flash. Wonder
if she composes--under the influence
of red wine, French rain, shadow light--
some herstoriography of the real. 

But don¹t insult her with the loose change
of your vacation franc.  Give her
what she wants, an audience.   There is no
subscription fee. The series runs each night. 
Performances will not be sold out. 

Take this photograph.  It is modern art,
under the influence
of a dialectic whose boundaries
are yet to be determined.

 

(Originally appeared in Traveling in Reflected Light)









E-mail: Andrena

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