Mining the archives of old notebooks, I came across this poem written aeons ago. The memory of its writing is still fresh because it is associated with the piece of music that prompted its creation. It is the instrumental piece whose title is also serving as the title of the poem. It is by Greek singer-songwriter Georges Moustaki who became famous in France in the 1960s. This short guitar piece is a perfect little miniature and encapsulated at the time my feelings, which I hoped to express by writing this poem, vocalising the emotion implicit in the music.
Rue de Fossés Saint-Jacques
My loneliness, A silver needle in my heart, A wreath of flames on my head. My loneliness, A knot caught in my throat, stifling me, Poisoned bitter wine, On my lips killing me With every sip, repeatedly.
My loneliness, A guitar ringing out, (With the G slightly out of tune) In an empty room. My loneliness, A single bed, a white sheet Like a snow-covered frigid plain.
My loneliness, A promise that was never kept, Wasted words only, Taken like dead leaves by the wind. My loneliness, A salty tear and brumy eyes, Secret sighs in a dark room, The counting of hours until dawn.
I have been blogging daily on this platform for several years now. It is surprising that I have persisted as the world is changing and "microblogging" is now the norm. I blog to amuse myself, make comment on current affairs, externalise some of my creativity, keep notes on things that interest me, learn something new and to surprise myself with things that I discover about this wonderful, and sometimes crazy, world we live in.
I sometimes get the impression that I am on a soapbox delivering a monologue, so your comments are welcome.