Paris Spoken Here

Christine Candland

Description

Paris Spoken Here, Christine Candland’s second collection of poetry, offers whimsical and poignant verses based on real life experiences, art and travel.
In “Princess,” we follow the life of a young teacher with baby in tow; ”She strolls in the moonlight, ethereal, misty, a vision. No, she walks with deliberation, carries baby in one arm holds onto toddler with the other..”
In “The Cusp of Venice,” “(A) full moon building as water in the grand canal rose higher each day as Poseidon himself lapped up the steps of the Piazza.” In “Cleopatra’s Remorse,” a choice must be made between her love and loyalty to Egypt. “Does her heart truly ache for Anthony or has it become caustic and soundproof.”
There is dramatic dialogue between Persephone and Zeus in “The Plea,” “ Father Zeus, do not cast me down to the dank land of stealth, to moldy things..”; and in the title poem “Paris Spoken Here”, “When the rain came down hard, you hustled us off to a warm brasserie to purchase a café crème..”

Sujets

• Cráter Odysseus
• Princess
• Cleopatra VII
• Pierre-Auguste Renoir
• Persephone
• Odysseus
• Hades
• Poetry
• Homer
• Cleopatra
• Paris
• Venice
• Renoir

Informations

• Publié par: iUniverse
• Date de parution: 08 février 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781663250063
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Praise for Paris Spoken Here
Christine Candland’s Paris Spoken Here takes the reader on many journeys. In the title poem, the reader sits in the chairs of Notre Dame and then enjoys a café crème inside a warm brasserie while it rains outside. Later, there is a “full moon building as water in the grand canal rose” in Venice and a paean to the David and the colors “that still sing after 500 years” in the frescoes in Florence. Greek and Roman myth flit throughout, including the demigod Paris, and later, Persephone and Odysseus, alongside Cleopatra and Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin.
But for all the beauty and finery, these poems also sing with keen awareness of the gift of the ordinary. Playing bingo and mayonnaise sandwiches reveal characters whose lives are humble but still seek enjoyment as the narrator pays homage to a favorite aunt, passing friends, and the daily work of caring for others.
In the poem “Lost and Found” Candland writes, “Holding onto people, friends, relatives, isn’t easy. What if I dropped one, they might break or roll under the couch. Then where would I be?” These poems hold on to the jewel of each memory—grand or ordinary—to find the spark within.
— Elline Lipkin, Poet Laureate of Altadena
Christine Candland sees the world through brilliant lenses. She takes us where she goes to experience her adventures and shows us the way. She writes with soft radiance, quietly as a tinkling bell and calls our attention to every detail, whether it be her wanderings in Paris or a vision of artwork she has seen. All the while leaving us space to imagine and feel the breadth of her words and thoughts. Christine’s poems are a collage of her life’s experiences around the world and outside her front door. Her sense of discovery illuminates what she sees and shares with us as is evident in “A Spark of Divinity.”
— Patricia Olson, Moderator of the Brentwood Library Poetry Fest
In order to write poetry, it is essential for poets to read and find joy in that journey of discovery. It is all about the ability to find purpose even when it doesn’t feel like there is any, yet we refuse to quit on life. Christine Candland’s “Princess” illustrates this same perseverance: the mother holds down all the turmoil at home, with a baby and a toddler in tow, teaching “elementary, up before six: arithmetic, reading, story time” and reviewing lesson plans—all in a “satisfying day,” so her home is “content with vibration” as she counts her blessings.
— Bory Thach, Editor , California Quart erly
PARIS SPOKEN HERE
 
 
 
Poems By
CHRISTINE CANDLAND
 
 
 

 
PARIS SPOKEN HERE
 
 
Copyright © 2023 Christine Candland.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
 
 
 
iUniverse
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Book Designed and Edited by Michael N. Candland
 
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5005-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5007-0 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6632-5006-3 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901347
 
 
 
iUniverse rev. date: 02/07/2023
 
Also By Christine Candland
Topaz W oman
Pleiades Ri sing
When Snow Walks In, Poem s By
 
To my husband Michael, with love
Contents
ONE
Snow in Summer
When You Woo Me
Princess
Pause for Angels
A Spark of Divinity
Marguerite
To Aunt Hannah, Who Took Care of Everyone
Fruitcake and Coffee
Mayonnaise Sandwiches
The ‘64 Cadillac
Insomnia’s Voice
Lost and Found
The Weather Vane
The Plea
TWO
When Susanne Traveled Across Country
Coltrane and Ozzie
Michael with the Beautiful Shoulders
Paris Spoken Here
Homer’s Girl
Pierre’s Atelier
The Cusp of Venice
Harriet’s Garden
Cora’s Recollection
Suspended Animation
Bingo up the Street
Coordinated or Just Pretty
The Top Shelf
Persephone Meets Odysseus
THREE
Brown Rabbit
Becky’s Baton
Refracted Light
Standing in the Rain
The Children’s Garden
Jenny’s Ghost
Red Suede Heels
Cleopatra’s Remorse
Dorothy at the Algonquin
My Only Pet
Cutting Corners
Penelope and Max
For Now
Story Talk
Acknowledgements
About the Author
ONE
Snow in Summer
From a distance it looks like snow in the mountains
and up close, like fallen flakes between rocks and hiding
places.
 
A blue-green stem with translucent petals. Gardens in the
neighborhood can be startling; if I didn’t take this walk,
look at what I’d be missing.
 
Don’t know if there is a giraffe rose or a zebra daffodil.
It must have to be a newly divined flower or an accidental
one to receive such a grand name.
 
Was Snow in Summer called after a person or a persona,
like American Beauty. Maybe an everyday flower can
be renamed to freshen it up.
 
Where was Snow in Summer first found? On a hillside or
by a stream. By itself or clustered with others. Most likely
among the larkspur or marigold; or near its cousin,
the carnation.
 
Studying the ground, there’s a patch of dichondra.
Was it planted here or carried by the wind?
Each one has its story. I listen closely. They will tell me
how they got to this spot and what they saw along the way.
When You Woo Me
When you woo me, I’ll pull down the blinds,
savor the jasmine and calla lily,
carelessly as silk strewn over velvet,
a swash of elegance on the floor.
 
Lifting strawberries and light, careful not to linger
too close to the fire, careful
not to heighten the blaze,
sown with forgetfulness.
 
Softly comb your hair shortened by my last foray
into restless waves. Enduring petals of insolence,
a moth’s flight out the window.
In case memory strays too far from home.
 
Careful longing pervades endless
chicanery, pulling here, now there, until mist covers
all boundaries, all surfaces. Damp moss edges the stream.
 
Contentment vanishes, soon blinds go up. City sounds rush
in too soon as docile providence collides; so sure the
street car had already passed us by.
Dawn and milkman are at the door.
Princess
She strolls in the moonlight, ethereal, misty, a vi sion.
No, she walks with deliberation, carries baby in one arm
holds onto toddler with the other
into the kitchen, reaches for a warmed-up bottle.
 
Wanders through the forest, under a canopy of filtered l ight.
No, hoses off sidewalk, brings trash cans around to the front,
digs errant dandelion from vegetable patch,
as sun seeks vengeance upon hatless freckled skin.
 
Spins silk ruffles, undercurrents in rose, creamy gard enia.
No, sifts through closet of practical dresses
to teach elementary, up before six; arithmetic, reading,
story time after noon, lesson plans to review.
Drop off kids with Anna.
 
Nails polished with glistening paint, tresses frosted in br onze.
No, nails bitten to the quick, emery boards hoarded for a speedy fix;
pedicures reduced to clipping nails. Baby and toddler welcome her at five, drive home across the ridge, dogs yelp to be fed.
 
Imbibes exotic tea, foie gras spooned upon translucent t hins.
No, a quick hot dog, kids lifted into high chairs; instant mashed
potatoes, chopped chicken, peas, tapioca. Night falls early.
Swayed to sleep, dogs nuzzle at her feet.
 
A satisfying day, lesson plans for tomorrow, rinse nylons, diapers,
bibs; emails to read, a thank you note to send.
 
Dreaming arrives with urgency to calm bugle call from restless
muse who kicks at the door.
 
            W hat about you? Where are your paints? Your p iano?
            Songs you never wrote imprisoned in the Tower of Expedi ency.
 
Destiny crept in after cheerleader camp, private tutors and graduation.