Recently a friend said that walking with me is like walking a dog: walking. standing. watching. watching. watching. standing. walking. standing. … …. Photographers seem to be boring companions. Sometimes ;-)
Mais si nous admettons que tout soit poésie…..alors qu’est-ce que c’est que la poésie? Et qu’est-ce qu’un poème?
Robert Frost wrote that “a poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness.”
Baudelaire of course sees things differently. He says – :tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, luxe, calme et volupté.”
I think they’re both right – as is the anonymous author of your sign. And if poetry is indeed as Frost thought, an emotion that “has found its thought and the thought has found words” –
Then what is it when words find…..the right image? We could go around that one for awhile – but the answer which appeals to me the most is, simply –
It is this photograph.
And the person standing there, watching these words … is none other than the photographer herself.
And we, your viewers …. are watching the watcher. I think Baudelaire would like that. Frost, too …. with his promises to keep, and miles to go ….
…. a simple truth :) standing or watching
Recently a friend said that walking with me is like walking a dog: walking. standing. watching. watching. watching. standing. walking. standing. … …. Photographers seem to be boring companions. Sometimes ;-)
… if only it were.
I know two people who had to follow us two dogs around Arles and still love us!
Mais si nous admettons que tout soit poésie…..alors qu’est-ce que c’est que la poésie? Et qu’est-ce qu’un poème?
Robert Frost wrote that “a poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness.”
Baudelaire of course sees things differently. He says – :tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, luxe, calme et volupté.”
I think they’re both right – as is the anonymous author of your sign. And if poetry is indeed as Frost thought, an emotion that “has found its thought and the thought has found words” –
Then what is it when words find…..the right image? We could go around that one for awhile – but the answer which appeals to me the most is, simply –
It is this photograph.
And the person standing there, watching these words … is none other than the photographer herself.
And we, your viewers …. are watching the watcher. I think Baudelaire would like that. Frost, too …. with his promises to keep, and miles to go ….
Liberté was written on another cobblestone.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat.
A photo might begin with a lump in the throat, too.
And to answer your first question:
La poésie, c’est un des plus vrais, un des plus utiles surnoms de la vie.
N’est-ce pas?
Oui.
Tout à fait.
:)