greatpoetry | Fenton, James: In Paris with You (Reply)

This is my favorite poem. I find that few people know it, which is sad. Interestingly, these thirty lines acted as a gateway drug into my addiction to poetry. Go figure.

One day, I will go to Paris, find a sleazy hotel room, and then recite this poem to my lover, even though he'll most likely have heard it seven thousand times by the time we get to Paris: I dream big.

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

               Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,
               If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
               If we skip the Champs Elysées
               And remain here in this sleazy
               Old hotel room
               Doing this and that
               To what and whom
               Learning who you are,
               Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.