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Charles Trenet,

Sidney Bechet,

and the Carousel in

Les Issambres.


Fireworks at midnight

over the bay,

once a week

lit St Tropez. 


You were five years old

and we still a family,

sleeping in one big bed,

and each precious moment

the Carousel turned

I knew then, I should never forget.

◄ Seminal work

Youths blind vanity lost ►


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Sat 17th Sep 2016 23:25

Sidney Bechet on fine form David. The directness and persuasiveness of his playing was wonderful - a master.

I love the poem and how it conjures up the French flavours. Like a dream of hope and nostalgia.


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Wolfgar Miere

Wed 14th Sep 2016 22:28

I think in poetry words are the enemy, many think we are in league with words...we are not, it should be our aim to rid ourselves of them.

Too many people on here think themselves clever by using so many.

I find it amusing, words are a distraction, its the gaps which entice the true reader.

Heaven forbid, what would all those technocratic non poet so called poets have to discuss if it was so.

They might have to create a thought, life without punctuation and grammar... and a name for everything, oh the very thought.


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Stu Buck

Wed 14th Sep 2016 12:43

it flows beautifully though and grounds the piece nicely. i have read three times now. a good one i believe

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Wolfgar Miere

Wed 14th Sep 2016 12:35

Thanks Stu,

Yes, the first verse seems almost fraudulent, merely quoting names...seems to work nicely though.

Thanks again,


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Stu Buck

Wed 14th Sep 2016 11:54

excellent, especially the first verse which is lovely and lyrical even though it mostly contains names.

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