The flat was in Rue Montmartre as I recall,
a sequence of pictures hung upon a wall
that explained the meaning of time;
photos in black and white of geometric shapes,
unusual shapes that held the eye, disturbed the eye.
I sat in a corner café much concerned,
ran back to find a tenant now installed,
a face I barely recognised at first,
to whom I would explain once and for all,
the meaning of those pictures on the wall.
I failed to make him understand a thing
of how as a totality all exists,
and screamed: ‘Just let me see them one last time’,
ran into the room to find them gone
and in their place instead, but lately hung,
the portrait of a mother holding child.
‘Too late,’ I said. ‘I’ve come here far too late.’
Now in my head I tread forever more,
the dingy inner stair, first up, then down,
in vain, not getting anywhere at all.
The flat was in Rue Montmartre as I recall.
5 thoughts on “Pictures”
Reblogged this on Another Way of Saying.
I find this one very intriguing Nigel. Can you tell me the inspiration for it?
A few years ago my wife and I stayed in an apartment in Paris, the stairs reminded me very strongly of one of Escher’s never-ending staircases. I drew also on the idea of all time being “eternally present” in T.S. Eliot’s “Burnt Norton”. I have to say I’m slightly baffled by it myself! The mother/child motif I think denotes the transcending power of love that has somehow eluded the speaker. If you find out what it all means, oldmainer, please let me know.
I’ll get to work on that:) But don’t hold your breath. Still liked it very much.
Thanks oldmainer – much appreciated.