Wednesday, March 02, 2022

The Moonlight is speechless ...

... and so am I, almost, on the first anniversary of Claude's death, which is why I let her speak.
She sent me this poem in December 2018.

She worked hard at being able
to think THINK instead of PENSER
to write a flawless letter to England as well as to France
to add Shelley to Lamartine
to exude Gallic charm mixed with British romanticism
she studied books and dictionaries
she travelled far and she lived everywhere
she met dignitaries and the people next door
she reached French and English fluency
in her dreams, tears and laughter
and when she wore this two-colour dress with elegance
she discovered
that the heart has no language, no culture of its own
The moonlight is speechless...
stars in one's eyes mean more than "Je t'aime, beloved"
and two clasped hands across a table
across a warm sea of silence
can tear down
better than a thousand well-chosen words
the tower of babel
one erects every day in one's soul.
CPG     (1970)

Thank you for everyting, Claude. De tout coeur.


  1. I miss Claude.

    Her beautiful soul lives on within each of our hearts xx

  2. Sent a shiver down my spine. I only wish I had got to know her better. Affecting words.

    1. Fine words written by a woman whilst I was a teenager, eh?
      Claude's vita would send many more shivers down your spines, dear Mark.