First Poem in Paris The poet has writer's block and marvels at the sculptor who molds clay, chisels stone, polishes marble on and on. He asks for advice and is told to go to the Paris Zoo— "Focus on one animal until you feel its essence, soak up the autumnal air so your poem will flow out." He's soon there amidst living shapes and colors, a torn charcoal sketch sweeps by his feet catching his eyes, an organ-grinder's music leads him to a cage— she's drawing on a sketchpad the beast pacing behind bars. Her sparkly cat brooch and sweet perfume draws him near as she crumples another sheet and tosses it to a trash bin. "Oh, I've been doing a lot of that too!" he confides in her. He's German, she's Serbian— the dark energy swirling before them makes him write not of her but the dance of power around a point where a mighty will is numbed. She invites him up for tea but he does not hear her— all his senses drawn to the bars and behind the bars thousands of bars to endless night prowling back and forth trapped in this black world that must die to a new image striking his Eye— and that's how his first poem in Paris "The Panther" was born. — Peter Y. Chou Mountain View, 2-14-2007 revised, 2-16-2007 |
© Peter Y. Chou, WisdomPortal.com P.O. Box 390707, Mountain View, CA 94039 email: ![]() |
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