My wish for you is that you have a neverending series of dreams and a             furious desire to realize a few of them. My wish for you is that you love what must be loved and forget what must be forgotten. I wish you passions. I wish you silences. My wish for you is that you hear the songs of birds and the laughter of children at your awaking. My wish for you is that you resist the downtroddenness, the indifference, the negative virtues of our era.My wish for you especially is that you be YOU!(translated from the French by Dennis O'Connor)

What an odd duck.
Reading his mead is like
drowning in sweet
annoyance. His criticism,
self-westernizing
reference to Greek
heroes; I know but don't care
as much as my sister,
My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge.
Who am I to question the genius.
A genius of his craft,
but blind in sanity.
Who am I to question us,
Deaf to the genius
of our own Muse-ick.

It is just us three:
#, Brel and me.
Trois Faisans,
# 6 ft under self,
Master Brel sings
still of Les Bourgeois,
and me toolin around
still JoJo.

Tears from dusky lowered lids
crystallize and scintillate in the
flames of the guttering candles.

(Walk away, love, walk away!
Kiss my cheek and turn.-
A shattered heart beats, ****** in your breast.)
We love, and yet we return to our 'others'.
We pray we never hurt them. Pray we never break.

I cannot stop this love!  I do not regret it. There!
I only hope that we hide it well enough that it not disturb the innocents...
because, we were innocents too, when it came crashing into our lives.
Bien!  Non Regrets Rien.  Sing the song, and Edith will sing with us. ...
Or Aznavour will.  Or Lara Fabian, or Jacques Brel...
Sing on le chanteur et les chanteurs,  
then come and weep with me.

do people write each other letters anymore,
and if so, do they send them?
when was the last time you visited a post office?
when was the last time you licked a stamp?
when was the last time an envelope with your name hastily
hand-scribbled in cursive make your anxious heart
beat uncontrollably?
has it ever?
have you ever?
do people dedicate songs to each other anymore?
do they wait twenty-nine minutes on call
to declare a love in their heart for you on the radio?
do people listen to the radio anymore?
do they call at 6 25 AM
to leave a 3 minute and 53 second voicemail
with Jacques Brel desperately crooning "ne me quitte pas" ?
do people still like other people?
do people still like themselves?
do people know that they are people?
are people even people anymore?
I deem not your response
but my own rearranging complacency of mind
I am aware that I am still human
and although I am not fond of myself all the time
which only makes me that much more human
I am utterly and entirely fond of you
every peeking minute of the day, every fleeting hour of the night
you fill my mind with worded imagery
so I write you a letter
with no other intention than for you to know
your essence is in all of my favourite songs
all of my favourite songs lead me to you
oh, love
love is so human
my love is so human for you, my love
and I'll try anything to hold on to
these sensations a while longer
these physical notions
carry my emotional train of thought
these physical notions
are temporary gestures of my everlasting love

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

Time waiting
like a lowly servant

coughing politely every
now and then

to remind them that
ahem...the world is...waiting

their ******* laughing
"So, let it...wait!"

The world tapping a toe
impatiently

eyes turned
up to Heaven

Time shrugging its shoulders
in a "what-can-I do" way.

She laughs at her and him
( it was always her and him )

puppets now of the imagination
memory's home movie

Time's revenge

remembering how it had been
now how

the train hurtles
through a darkness

her reflection made of night
and cold glass

hung there
suspended

staring into her own
crying eyes

knowing it could
never last what

a fool she'd been
she scorned herself

she this living
painting of the past

Reality once again
getting the upper hand

Time and the World
put in their place

the expensive meal
uneaten on the plate

the ship leavng
the town behind

slowly so
reluctant to do so

before distance and the dark
take control

'til the town too
is nothing

but a memory
hostage to the past

Jacques Brel's voice
lost inside her head

"...a coups de pourquoi..."

Now, here, somewhere
in mid-Atlantic

she finds herself
in the middle of nowhere

the middle of nowhere
exactly

where she
wanted to be

"oublier le temps
oublier le temps
oublier le temps."

I love blueberries.  I love the groves
of almond trees
you see as you drive up to
Sacramento.
I love anchovies and
raw broccoli.
I love Spanish wine and the feel of
your tongue when I am
down between your legs.
I love Jacques Brel, and the piles of peaches
that appear in stores late
in the spring.  I love gin and tonic, Alexander
Calder’s
mobiles, and the
early novels of
Philip Roth. I love laying in
bed with you
looking at
pictures of
Greece.
I love smoked salmon,
especially on a bagel toasted
with a little bit of butter.
I love lemon drops,
Frank Sinatra, and e.e.
cummings.
I love the smell of
eucalyptus trees and those
long,
flat
strips of
bark
that
peel
off
their
trunks
like
paper.

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

Time waiting
like a lowly servant

coughing politely every
now and then

to remind them that
ahem...the world is...waiting

their ******* laughing
"So, let it...wait!"

The world tapping a toe
impatiently

eyes turned
up to Heaven

Time shrugging its shoulders
in a "what-can-I do" way.

She laughs at her and him
( it was always her and him )

puppets now of the imagination
memory's home movie

Time's revenge

remembering how it had been
now how

the train hurtles
through a darkness

her reflection made of night
and cold glass

hung there
suspended

staring into her own
crying eyes

knowing it could
never last what

a fool she'd been
she scorned herself

she this living
painting of the past

Reality once again
getting the upper hand

Time and the World
put in their place

the expensive meal
uneaten on the plate

the ship leavng
the town behind

slowly so
reluctant to do so

before distance and the dark
take control

'til the town too
is nothing

but a memory
hostage to the past

Jacques Brel's voice
lost inside her head

"...a coups de pourquoi..."

Now, here, somewhere
in mid-Atlantic

she finds herself
in the middle of nowhere

the middle of nowhere
exactly

where she
wanted to be

"oublier le temps
oublier le temps
oublier le temps."

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

Time waiting
like a lowly servant

coughing politely every
now and then

to remind them that
ahem...the world is...waiting

their ******* laughing
"So, let it...wait!"

The world tapping a toe
impatiently

eyes turned
up to Heaven

Time shrugging its shoulders
in a "what-can-I do" way.

She laughs at her and him
( it was always her and him )

puppets now of the imagination
memory's home movie

Time's revenge

remembering how it had been
now how

the train hurtles
through a darkness

her reflection made of night
and cold glass

hung there
suspended

staring into her own
crying eyes

knowing it could
never last what

a fool she'd been
she scorned herself

she this living
painting of the past

Reality once again
getting the upper hand

Time and the World
put in their place

the expensive meal
uneaten on the plate

the ship leaving
the town behind

slowly so
reluctant to do so

before distance and the dark
take control

'til the town too
is nothing

but a memory
hostage to the past

Jacques Brel's voice
lost inside her head

"...a coups de pourquoi..."

Now, here, somewhere
in mid-Atlantic

she finds herself
in the middle of nowhere

the middle of nowhere
exactly

where she
wanted to be

"oublier le temps
oublier le temps
oublier le temps."

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

Time waiting
like a lowly servant
coughing politely every

now and then
to remind them that
ahem...the world is...waiting

their *******
laughing
"So, let it...wait!"

the world tapping a toe
impatiently
eyes turned up to Heaven

Time
shrugging its shoulders
in a "what-can-I do" way

she laughs
at her and him
( it was always her and him )

puppets now
of the imagination
memory's home movie

Time's revenge
remembering how it had been
now how

the train hurtles
through a darkness
her reflection made of night

and cold glass
hung there
suspended

staring into her own
crying eyes
knowing it could

never last what
a fool she'd been
she scorned herself

she this
living
painting of the past

Reality
once again
getting the upper hand

Time and the World
put in their place
the expensive meal

uneaten on the plate
the ship leaving
the town behind

slowly so
reluctant
to do so

before distance
and the dark
take control

'til the town too
is nothing but a memory
hostage to the past

Jacques Brel's voice
lost inside her head
"...a coups de pourquoi..."

now, here,
somewhere
in mid-Atlantic

she finds herself
in the middle of nowhere
the middle of nowhere

exactly
where she
wanted to be

"oublier le temps
oublier le temps
oublier le temps."