Il est 10:00 du matin à Bordeaux,
je me sens mutine.
Petites annonces:
Cultured gentleman, mature, congenial, refined,
Philosophical background, idealistic by nature,
Fond of music, sense of humor, scintillating mind,
Introspective, shy, shy as some small forest creature,
Invites exchange of views with feminine counterpart,
Discerning, amiable, unselfish young lady who shares
His deep interests and, in communing with a lonely heart,
Will not be frightened off by a few gray hairs.
Middle-aged woman, personable, gracious, loving fun and life,
Sophisticated, independent, with unslacked curiosity,
Partial to the pursuit of happiness, having had enough
Of convention and Lenten fare, unencumbered, fancy-free,
Seeks adventure via correspondence,
Easement, margin where time now cramps and pinches,
Diversion, experience, warmth, abundance
Where life has denied, sitting on its thin haunches.
Solitary young or old introvert, disillusioned, cynical,
Educated beyond edurance, bored, bored, bored,
Versatile, intelligent, creative, highly original,
Hopeful of striking responsive chord,
Desires letters from fellow-iconoclast,
Seeks escape from tedium's dominium,
Invites the piquant, the provocative, the unexpressed,
Desires -- Arcades ambo -- a lost soul's companion.
Invites, seeks, desires -- the sleazy words stick in the craw!
Where are the desperate words, the words to compel and enjoin?
Alas, those victims of a kind of Gresham's law
Have been driven into hiding by this debased coin.
Seeks, invites, desires! Will these words penetrate,
Touch, arouse? Oh, will someone hear
Before too late, too late, too late, too late,
Becomes a deafening clamor in the ear?
~ Samuel Yellen ~
as published in one of The New Yorker books of poems.
P.S.
Thank the Lord I never met a gangster, I would've been his moll
Too bad I never met Valentino in his tent, I would have been
his danseuse érotique, comme Garbo in 1931.
I might have been Zelda, la néerlandaise,
et exécutée par les français en 1917, à Vincennes.
The world is but a stage, she told me,
and Shakespeare never stops laughing in his grave.
Too bad I never met Valentino in his tent, I would have been
his danseuse érotique, comme Garbo in 1931.
I might have been Zelda, la néerlandaise,
et exécutée par les français en 1917, à Vincennes.
The world is but a stage, she told me,
and Shakespeare never stops laughing in his grave.
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