I alternate between having too much and too little to say. Today there are too many ideas, memories, and worries walking around in my mind- yet I can think of no proper method to express these walking thoughts. I've just finished Bluets by Maggie Nelson, published by Wave Books. I miss the old church of St. Mark's, the blanketed walls of the Poetry Project. The knee-touching crampedness of the Lillian Vernon House. Monday nights huddled in the KGB Bar (March 29th is not to be missed, if you can swing it). J.Ashbery and J.Gilbert in grand lecture halls, light bulbs glimmering. I am homesick for language above all things. My French is not terrible, but to go weeks without being able to express my thoughts in the exact manner I should like to express them has been the most trying hardship of all. Need I even mention how tuffed I am to have missed C.K. Williams? Sharon Olds? A literary conference on Wallace Stevens? Bof, mes amis, bof!
When I was in France that's what really got to me, too, just to hear English being spoken and to speak it to people. It's a bizarre feeling.
ReplyDeleteThese are beautiful. Love the paper cranes. xo!
ReplyDeletei felt pretty much the same when i was in paris, shut up inside myself. its the most frustrating thing!
ReplyDeleteI am French, and I speak English fluently. You can talk to me if you want :) Gorgeous pictures, as usual.
ReplyDeleteI know exactly how you are feeling. I have always wanted to live in the UK, a dream that I have had forever, and now that I am doing it, I want to be home surrounded by familiar things and people and places. If you need to talk to someone going through the same thing, I am here. :)
ReplyDeleteNatalie x
Coucou,
ReplyDeleteI am an English girl living in Belleville a Paris, I have been a great fan of your blog and of your flickr for a while. I've been living in Paris for a year now, I work at the bibliotheque nationale and as a journalist's PA. If you ever want to go for a coffee that would be really lovely.
Bon courage, Emma.
Alas, Marcine, I'm sending NYC poetry vibes your way! I remember being in Spain, living for a month with a family that only spoke Spanish, and voraciously reading my copy of "Heart is a Lonely Hunter" within the first couple of days. And then I started to re-read it. I was sooo desperate for English.
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