w Chopin.

w Chopin

He smiled on you in his youth

So thin, pale, effeminate.

Blending in with your blanched and bleaching city.

But you remember him so well,

Dropping his name

When you drink at guest parties

Smiling or smirking

Your back straightens a bit.

You put his statue in your square,

Broader and straighter, I think, than he really was.

But that was how you saw him.

His songs were so quiet

You mention them so loud.

He left when you were free, and when you fell in bondage

He did not return to you.

Pari, Pari. There he drank wine

There he made love,

There he tasted the sordid, sweet delights you could not give.

(Pari is full of color,

And you are full of shade.)

You were Maria Wodzinska

Pari his George Sand.

Il ne jamais fait l’amour a vous.

Do you think his mind there was on you, Warsawa?

The prodigal son

Who never returned.

Warsawa, Warsawa,

Why do you cling to him

Who left you so young?

And you have nothing to claim

But his minuets.



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3 responses to “w Chopin.

  1. Kelsey

    I love your personification of the city. Warsawa straightening her(his?) back as she drops Chopin’s name at a cocktail party. It’s a great poem, and you even taught me a little history, since I had no idea Chopin was Polish. Keep up the good work, friend!

  2. thanks Kels! glad you like it

  3. I do accept as true with all of the concepts you have introduced in your post.
    They’re really convincing and can definitely work. Still, the posts are too quick for novices. May just you please prolong them a little from next time? Thank you for the post.

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