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Beneath Paris: (1 Viewer)

dannyboy

Friends of WF
In the dark city of reflection walls are made
from skulls and other random bones,
create spaces of separateness in the limestone
avenues to wander by the light of carbide
whisper romantic songs into the starless ceiling
hold hands with ghosts who roam the streets
as they try to remember the address upstairs.
It is there voices meet, pretend to be echoes
recount old stories of sunlight and birdsong
with hearts that long to return, seeds that need
warmth for life to burst upon them again, hands
ready to push through rock and soil, two arms
to spread into the joyous stance of ballerinas.
 

2020Syd2020

Senior Member
This is such an interesting subject matter, I’ve been fascinated by catacombs and the underground of cities such as a Paris and London for a long time. You really convey a sense of the living wanting to explore that world while the dead want nothing more to get back to the world of the living.

Thank you

Syd
 

happy-hippie

Senior Member
In the dark city of reflection walls are made
from skulls and other random bones,
create spaces of separateness in the limestone
avenues to wander by the light of carbide
whisper romantic songs into the starless ceiling
hold hands with ghosts who roam the streets
as they try to remember the address upstairs.
It is there voices meet, pretend to be echoes
recount old stories of sunlight and birdsong
with hearts that long to return, seeds that need
warmth for life to burst upon them again, hands
ready to push through rock and soil, two arms
to spread into the joyous stance of ballerinas.

So my analysis of this poem is as follows:

To me, City of Reflection is a place where people spend a lot of time thinking about the past. It’s like a graveyard in the sense that the people are not living in the present; they are dead to what life has to offer today. They “pretend to be echoes”(love this line!) meaning that they repeat the same stories over and over again.

They need to get outside of the graveyard of their memories, feel the sunshine on their face, dance like ballerinas, and enjoy life in the present where the sun is still shining.

Am I anywhere way near what you were thinking when you wrote this (you know I had to ask)?

Superb.
 

dannyboy

Friends of WF
Ta to you both and yes, this poem is both a reflection on a photograph of the catacombs of Paris and a warning tp people stuck in the past that the very memories (especially the ghosts) would like nothing more than be alive again - its also a loosely (very) constructed sonnet - 14 lines, the turn after the 8th line.
 
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