AN AUTEUIL SUMMER

Some thoughts about Marcel Proust(1871-1922)

An Auteuil summer,

When the streets of Paris

Were filled with blood.

A summer after the defeat,

When the bourgeous peace

Was hammered into existence

At the ruins of Paris.

A firefly

That hovered around

The decaying aristocracy,

Wanting to be like them,

He was born,

A character quite common

In the Belle Epoque,

A man destined to wander

In the Bois de Boulogne

During more peaceful summers,

Yet always an outsider,

A pitiful character

Out of Balzac

For this gentle age.

He would achieve greatness

Through his art

Yet as a man, what

Was he but an odd Oblomov

Whose destiny was

To re-create

His surroundings on

The pages of his books?¨

10.07.2000-11.11.2017