Paris III

And the movies. My Architect.

A moving study of Louis Kahn –

of a son and his acceptance of a father,

even if he had 3 families.

Il Dono. Slow, focusing on textures.

Calabria. Christ stopped at Eboli.

A desolation of the soul, redeemed by the gift.

Good thing I got my times mixed up

–thought it was 4:30 when it was 3:30 –

which was when the show started.

And then somewhere along the way

a shop with photographs.

Wonderful one of Grand Central Station – 148 euros.

Too much to spend for a non-birthday present.

Also some Cartier Bresson. You know right away it’s him.

Baguettes and wine.

Inchworm, inchworm, climbing up the wall

… now where do you come from?

We know, alas, where you will go.

Lovely lady on bus, man’s hat,

very French, charming, fine-boned.

Speaks English. Has noted us before.

Elegant. But with worn spot on her tweed slacks.

What would Maigret have said?

Another visit to Pere Lachaise.

This time found Ingres and Delacroix.

Piaf and Yves Montand. Proust too.

Modigliani. Two notes held down by stones,

in Italian, thanking him.

Tommy wants some licence plates.

You’ll have problems with customs, Carolyn says.

We pass a key-making place, no licence plates in sight

and then we don’t have time.

Back to airport. Bus to Bastille.

Metro to La Defense. Stairs again.

Bus through countryside, impressionist landscape,

countryside (not as  beautiful as our Umbria)

to Beauvais airport.

Customs? Neither here nor in Rome.

And finally back home.

There were of course other things.

Veronese. Val de Grace. And our conversations.

Thanks Carolyn. It’s been a great vacation.

The End