{"id":3817,"date":"2022-04-21T14:07:46","date_gmt":"2022-04-21T18:07:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3817"},"modified":"2022-04-21T14:07:48","modified_gmt":"2022-04-21T18:07:48","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-176","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2022\/04\/21\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-176\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #176"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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James Fenton is a British poet, journalist, art critic, and theater reviewer. He has written many books and in 1994 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford University. His volumes of poetry have been published sporadically and Stephan Metcalf in the New York Times <\/em>said “I can’t help hoping that Fenton will slough off a little more frequently the pose of left-handed diffidence that has admittedly served him so well, and accept the mantle of his greatness, overbearing as it might be.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful\nAnd I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.\nI'm one of your talking wounded.\nI'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.\nBut I'm in Paris with you.\n\nYes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled\nAnd resentful at the mess that I've been through.\nI admit I'm on the rebound\nAnd I don't care where we<\/em> bound.\nI'm in Paris with you.\n\nDo you mind if we do not<\/em> go to the Louvre,\nIf we say sod off to to sodding Notre Dame,\nIf we skip the Champs Elys\u00e9es\nAnd remain here in this sleazy\nOld hotel room \nDoing this and that\nTo what and whom \nLearning who you are,\nLearning what I am.\n\nDon't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,\nThe little bit of Paris in our view.\nThere's that crack across the ceiling\nAnd the hotel walls are peeling\nAnd I'm in Paris with you.\n\nDon't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.\nI'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.\nI'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,\nI'm in Paris with . . . all points south.\nAm I embarrassing you?\nI'm in Paris with you.\n\nIn Paris With You \nJames Fenton<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
James Fenton is a British poet, journalist, art critic, and theater reviewer. He has written many books and in 1994 he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford University. His volumes of poetry have been published sporadically and Stephan Metcalf in the New York Times said “I can’t help hoping that Fenton will slough off a little more frequently the pose of left-handed diffidence that has admittedly served him so well, and accept the mantle of his greatness, overbearing as it might be.” 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 that I’ve been through. I admit I’m on the rebound And I don’t care where 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 to sodding Notre Dame, If we skip the Champs Elys\u00e9es 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. In Paris With You James Fenton<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3818,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3817","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3817","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3817"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3817\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3820,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3817\/revisions\/3820"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3818"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3817"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3817"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3817"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}