NOVEMBER  2013

"If you follow your bliss, you will always have your bliss, money or not."

Joseph Campbell

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Welcome to November and the day of all saints.  Last night, all hollowed eve, I went to the open mic night at the performance space called Culture Rapide.  I and the woman who hosts the evening are the only ones who are older than 35 (possibly 30).  Thank the goddess I am immature enough that the others don’t think I’m a day over 45!  It was a lot of fun.  I did two pieces:  a poem that I have published below and a somewhat B/D piece that may not be ready for all you prime timers.  I have to say that the young kids that get up and perform are just unbelievable — most are from the U.S., Great Britain and Australia (it’s an English open mic).  They are far away from home, in a country whose language they may or may not speak, and they have the balls to get up and perform — and perform really good stuff.  Many are poets who can make you laugh, cry or both.  Some are singers who can also make you laugh or cry (for different reasons) and some can just tell you a funny story and make you laugh.  And, no, we make no money.  And no, no one else may ever see what goes on here.  But, it’s fun and it’s uplifting and you just fucking know that these young people are going to do good — just like artists have done for millennia.  These are young people who are trying not to lose their souls, to make purposeful lives for themselves and I can only say that it is a joyous thing.  When they write up the blurbs on tonight, I will include some names of these very talented and brave individuals.  For the moment, here’s the poem that I got up and read.

Crossing Over

The prefix trans signifies a crossing over

Transform, transport, transgender,

Transpire, translate, transcend

I belong to a people who cross over

The first time I was in a gay bar

I met a married lawyer named David

And we played

In the garage of the Holiday Inn

This was a transforming experience

In June of 1969 Judy Garland died

And I knew that something had dramatically transpired

Like James Barrie transformed imaginations

With Peter Pan and

Michael Bennett reconfigured movement 

With a chorus line and

James Baldwin translated race-

Ism and Whitman discombobulated

Verse while Proust sodomized prose and

Verlaine trans-sexted his youth and

A virus called HIV was transferred and

Caused many to cross over

This is what my people do

We go to the edge and

We dive off

We translate mundane into beauty and

We take sadness and pain and create an inverse

This is what we do.

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The inability of the iPad to be really useful forces me to complete the ode to Paris  poem here. (The edit page freezes and won't let me edit beyond 4 or 5 lines). Despite the current discom-Bob-ulation (sorry, I just had to) -- all corrections including new photos, will be dealt with when I return to a real computer back in DC.  [Edits completed 12/3]

Well, it was another Thursday night at Culture rapide open mic.  I read two poems which I'll post below and I even sang the one song that I dare to sing on a stage in front of strangers.  I'm really going to miss this regular opportunity to be creative.  It's allowed me to recapture my essence (according to the vernacular of Sartre!) as a creative person.  Many thanks to the three hosts of Paris Lit Up, Kate, Emily and Jason.

Ode to Paris

Paris, the essence of France 

The city of love

Or, maybe, the life of love

Is there a difference between the two?

I don't know

I see only romance

Between Parisians

Man and woman

Man and man

Woman and woman

It's very beautiful, very French 

However, walking along the street, no one moves until that last moment before bumping into each other

It's a little strange!

And people in the metro are always rushing as if there were a fire

Could it be that it is also love to gently touch each person?

I'm not sure

When I walk around the city, all I see is beauty

Monmartre, Montparnasse, Montgallet and all the monts

Place Des Vosges, Place d'Italie, Place des Fetes, and all the places

St. Michel, St. Sulpice, St. Germain and all the saints

Magnificent art, majestic and gilded buildings, grand and wide boulevards

It's the love of artists, of architects, and of lovers

Hold it!  Now I understand!

When one doesn't move in the street, he wants to gently touch me, to love me

And people aren't really hurried in the metro, they just want to gently touch everyone, to love everyone

It's incredible!  This love of the people!

Paris, you are the city and the life of love and one can do nothing but love you!

Of this, I am sure.

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Well, Paris time is winding down.  I return to DC on Sunday.  Susanna Henderson (Andre's sister) who is in Brussels for a year, came down to visit this past weekend.  I ran her ragged with sightseeing but we had two great dinners at two great vegetarian restaurants.  Lastly for now, I will be acting in a short play entitled "The Tortoise" by Chris Newens for a competition on a boat in the Seine on Saturday night, my last in Paris! (Photos courtesy of Susanna Henderson.)

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Last night was my last at Culture rapide, the Thursday night open mic.  It was sad to be leaving for now since I met a lot of nice people there particularly the three hosts, Kate, Emily and Jason.  They gave me the opportunity to find my creative self which had been lost for a long while.  I read two poems which I will post next week.  Tomorrow I will be performing in a new one-act play entitled 'The Tortoise' by Chris Newens which will be held on a boat in the Seine !  I'll tell you how it goes on Sunday.

La Rime

Parfois, je crois, c'est difficile ici

En vivant dans la ville de Paris

Quand on me demande si

Je parle français, je dis oui

Alors, on me parle en Anglais, ainsi

Et on me dit que je dois dire merci

Mais oui, je dirais merci

Si on me parle en français aussi

Parce que je suis un homme qui

Peut parler la langue pour dire que je suis

Ici à Paris pour être parmi

Les hommes qui veulent être maris!

 

Aussi, j’ai besoin d’un ami avec qui

Il faut parler français à lui

Ou je dis les phrases: mais oui, tant pis, c’est la vie!

Ou si j’ai de la chance:  viens maintenant au lit!

 

Et peut-être, je peut dire tous les mots que je lit

Qui sont plus précis pour être compris

Par les gens avec qui je parle, ici, a Paris

Néanmoins, je prie de parler français assez vi-te

Comme les parisiens pour qui

Il faut que je sois très bien compris

 

Et aussi, quelque jour, il faut que j’écri-ve 

Une histoire de ma vie, ici, a Paris

Pour vendre, j’espère, dans une librairie

SI- bien que tout le monde lit

De la gloire et la joie de Paris, ici

 

Et ainsi, je peux dire, me voici!

Une autre personne qui vit ici, a Paris

Avec mes amis et mes maris

Pendant, peut-être, le reste de ma vie

Et ensuite, presque français, I will be!

 

A Vulnerable Age

Do you ever wonder if there is an age

When you stop believing that you'll ever fall in love?

Forty, Fifty, Sixty

And be alone, all alone until the end

Does a tear form when you hear the words

If it hasn't happened yet...

Or are you strong while crying inside

From forbidden emotions and unseen wounds

All the while, dismissing the hurt

That takes a toll on those of us

Who fear the solitude of the unloved

Or perhaps, the unlovable

But then I see so many twosomes

Miserable and yet resigned

I could not have failed anymore than they

Who teach me what not to do

While sensitivity and fear may increase with time

May I still believe in love at first sight?

Some have claimed such simultaneous magic

And a fear of alone-ness can cause action

Maybe I'll win or maybe not

Is it a prize or a burden?

That need to connect

That need to share

I only know that I'm at a vulnerable age.

 

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