









All Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
All photographs taken in Paris, France










All Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
All photographs taken in Paris, France










All Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
All photographs taken in Paris, France
Packing boxes…
Separating substance
From superficial,
Measuring
All that matters
In the memory
Against
All that clutters
In the closet,
And France is calling…
Attends!
Packing boxes…
Selling superfluous
And saving sentiments,
Tittering
At trousers
Thought to be trendy
And fretting
At photos
Of faces forgotten,
And France is calling…
Attends!
Packing boxes…
Putting pressure
On the present,
Grateful
If the greener grass
Can be gainful
While worrying
If the words
Will return,
And France is calling…
Attends!
Packing boxes…
Filing fears
Into folders,
Singing
And skipping
And sighing and shaking,
Threading
The tracks
To tomorrow,
And France is calling…
J’arrive!
I see
In a vast bar
On the edge of my past
A boy so lost amid the crowd
And you,
There was,
In the mayhem,
A sense of happening,
A feeling of the familiar
In you,
Brown shirt
And dark blue jeans,
Gaze so deep to drown in
And a gentleness that caught me
Unaware,
In truth,
I had not seen
Or noticed you come in
But from the moment I saw you
I knew,
You were
The smile I sought,
The acceptance I craved,
The friendship I needed to find
At last,
I was
The curious
Little bird who’d found flight
And a place to perch in Paris
But then
In France
I was foreign,
A fool to fortitude
And invisible to all eyes
But yours,
I found
As time trickled
A fondness in that find,
A connection in the chaos
To last
Past boys
And men who came
To try us and test us
To see us laugh and to see us
Fall down.
I will
In these few lines
Try my best to thank you
For taking the time to see me
Back then,
The smile
That you offered
On that night, in that bar
Made a fearful foreign young boy
Feel home.
If this sombre mood
At this Saturday sunset
Is not for love alone
Then it is for loneliness;
For all that might have been
Or the memory of what used to be.
That pure and perfect picture
Of the cities most captured kiss
May have been merely a moment
Imagined, an idea once captured,
But its essence is alive on the lips
Of each and every courting couple
With their hands joined, their bodies
Touching, teasing, cavorting, embracing
And displaying such a degree of affection
To each other that does nothing but affirm
The solitary state of the single man in Paris.
A blonde little child
Wearing big girls shoes
With eyes that were eager
To pick out life’s clues.
Playing her music
To brighten the room,
All Mitchell in styling
And sweet to the tune.
A flatmate, a friend,
A flourishing fool,
A daring disaster
All crazy and cool.
Pure in her spirit
And swanlike in flight
She lit fires in the bones
Of wild boys at night.
So gentle of soul,
A foundling, a stray,
A cute little pixie
Just finding her way.
A girl, a woman,
A green mother earth,
A virtuous angel
In a tight fitting skirt.
I am not sure what it was-
A calling, a desire, a need
To start afresh; reborn-
Washed down to white,
A bare canvas to be painted on,
Once more, without mark or tint
Of what had been or came before
And yet, in this new rendering,
Each selected stroke
And technique of life and love
That had gone before
Shone out as if I’d laid
One too few undercoats
To cover up the replication
Of the previous interpretation.
But they were merely tones-
Hints of what had led me here,
To this city as old as time,
That so reveled in its own past
That it proved impossible
For anyone or anything to look
Directly in front of them
Without being aware of all
That lay in its shadowed history;
The heartless father- no longer
As ice stone in the memory,
Melting slightly with every sunset
Witnessed by the Pont des Arts.
How you tortured us,
I once thought, and yet,
With distance to enlighten me,
I see it was you who was tortured
By your own fumbling hands,
Unable to hold on to what you had,
But fighting to make it bleed as it fell
From your frightened clutch.
I’d cast you in my child-thinking mind
As impenetrable rock, and yet,
You were no more than base-empty,
Fool-hearted, stubborn image
Of lost boy, plunking manly grunts
Onto foolish quarrels that festered
Within you, as we pulled away,
Long before your slow path
To fated finish line- the end.
A line that I no longer saw
From the sanctuary of my own
Tiny life, all carved out
In new directions, opposite
To all of yours until my feet rested
On that fine day, in summer,
On the ground under which
I hoped you lay at peace, at last.
And so I turned from you,
With a nod of final forgiveness
To our past and flew back
To my future where firm footing
Claimed my title as accepted dweller
Instead of foreigner within.
I became an inhabitant
In my own right and a witness
To this city that stretched out
Before me as each new dawn
Rose to tempt me
With further offerings before
Wrapping itself around me
Once more as the sun set
On those journeys home-
Always bank side and lamp lit-
When this once walled city
Leant in and shielded me
From the loneliness of that run
From home; the free-falling flight
Of the frenzied Irishman to France.
Was youth my only excuse
For the naivety and lack
Of processions I’d arrived with;
A wallet not so bulging, a tongue
That had barely tickled the language
And a boy without a home,
Or friend or job to do?
And yet that was the desire
That bought me that once-off,
One-way, discounted, newspaper
Cut-out, couponed ticket.
My greatest folly and yet,
So too, my greatest joy.
My canvas may not have been
As blank as I thought but,
By the end, it had been
Uncompromisingly retouched,
The edges softened, the frame
Selected and, in my own reflection,
I saw colors I had never before
Imagined to be a part of me.
We found each other,
For a while
As we searched separately
For a new life
Amid the ashes of a life already lived
With bruised edges,
Fractured hearts
And losses to great to forget.
We stopped for each other,
All but briefly
And, in delighted ignorance,
Planned out a future
As inseparable
As water from land
And sky from sea
But proved to be less
Penetrable
Than we knew.
We shadowed each other,
At the start,
Sailing in separate shifts
On Chevelaret’s Street
In district 13
With Celtic music,
And pints of the black stuff
While a riotous racket of Turkish overtones
And Irish stupidity,
Parading as management,
Carved comedy into
Every inch of our jobs.
You were night and I the day
As we passed each other without
Sensing a connection
And yet I was already aware-
Intrigued by the mysterious air
You’d arrived on.
I had sat in the corner of the bar
And watched you being interviewed.
You polished off a glass of Guinness
On that unaccustomedly sun-lit day
In spring
Like it was the first drink ever
On a Friday evening
With not an ounce of fear or uncertainty
As Niall questioned you
With roaming eyes
That longed for more salacious information
Than you were willing to provide.
Your age was not to be a factor
Nor your flight from home
That had somehow lead you here,
To this place,
That must have rung out-
With first impression-
Like it was the end of the earth
Or the final stop for last chances.
You had shadowed the steps
I had made months earlier.
Were you as shocked as I
When you climbed down the metro’s stairs
And saw that lifeless street stretching out before you
With the Guinness sign in the distance
Like a beacon to call you home?
A dishevelled man-
Washed over in alcohol
And lost out in life
And two dead rats along the side walk
Had been my greeting
To this quarter
Lurking anonymously
Behind the chaos of Chinatown
And it sank into me-
As the train raced away,
That this was the one place were they would say
Yes
And my empty wallet would be
The one thing about me that
Could not say
No.
But somehow we made it home
And as the sun grew stronger
We looked at each other more closely
And made connections-
Blind to what lay beyond the glare
Of those rays that hypnotised us.
So how did it happen
In that summer-
That glorious summer where we had
Promised each other to make it be the one
That shone the brightest in our memories-
That we ended up
Losing each other?
I sat on someone’s porch steps
Covering them in bitter tears
While two blonde boys watched on
And waited for explanations that I could not know,
For I was still unable then to see
How much we had failed each other.
Had we been no more
And no less
Than oil and water
All that time-
Fooled somehow into thinking us a more
Compatible blend?
But I had seen you and fell for you-
For all that you were
And tried to be
And all that you covered up-
Wounds naked only to me
And wounds that you could not cure
And so I lifted you
And carried you
And feared for you,
And wondered how to get in
And worried how to get away-
I knew the danger signs that lit up
In your eyes
And when to speak
And when to say nothing
But- at the same time-
You carried me
And cared for me
And cured me too.
I was the adopted boy who became
Your adopted brother.
Once, I had been given up
Where you had given up.
I was the follow on that you needed to see
And you- the listener
I needed to confide in,
To say I forgive,
I’m ok,
I have survived.
To your face
I said thank you to a mother never seen
And in my eyes
You cried for all that you had lost
And could never have the chance to be.
Maybe the mix was too explosive
And we shared too much from opposite sides
Of an unused coin
In that bond
We made
And loved
And let break-
Brother and Sister
And sometimes
Mother and Son.
We began to heal together-
Broken hearts that we thought we’d left
Back home,
Memories that came flooding back
Like children we’d forgotten
And left behind-
A part of ourselves that we’d ignored-
Hoping the past would let it slide to
Forgetfulness
But we found that not to be true
And in each other we found-
For all but a precious moment-
A way of letting go
And moving on.
How little,
In that middle of it all,
Did we know how soon we’d let go of each other.
For, in truth,
It was never enough
And nothing could cure the washed over lines
That lay buried in the memory.
I could not become the lost child
And you were not the shadowed mother for me.
Maybe that was our downfall-
We hoped for too much from each other
And found not even a whole summer
On that street with its temples,
Viewless windows,
Benoits who cried in our laps,
Cards games you thought me
And Lovers who came our way
To divert us more from what lay
Too deep to remove.
Brother and Sister-
Sipping coffees and cokes
And teaching each other French-
We taught each other a lot
But never managed
To teach each other
To hold on.
Where are you now and do you ever
Wander in your mind
Back down that street
And into that bar
Were we talked
And laughed
And cried the night away
Until the morning found us
And we set off home
Together
And lay together
In one room,
In separate single beds
And spoke till one of us fell asleep.
I see you sometimes,
In my minds eye
With fag in hand, as always,
And eyes lit up as we danced through that bar
Which became our bar
On a Saturday night
As we simply entertained the audience
Perhaps just as simply
As we entertained each other.
In my mind we will always be dancing
Like that
Before closing the bar
And finding comfort in a cigarette,
A drink
And each other-
Brother and sister
For almost a summer,
Dancing in the ignorance
Of what autumn
Would have in store for us.
For two months
I’d waited for you-
Adrift for a time from
The mere sensation of even
A stranger’s touch-
Not knowing it was you,
Of course,
But for that longed for warmth
To envelope me.
How funny
And how easy
You became my Christmas present-
Mon cadeau.
My only gift had been a self-bought
Over-sized,
Under-priced
Tatty jumper
And then you arrived-
Dropped yourself at my table
In your yellow rain-coat
With slightly drunk,
Tear-filled eyes-
Lonely for your lover
Who’d flown home to family.
You’d been abandoned
For three days,
Or so you thought-
Till you were in my arms
Amid a darkening street
In The Marais
And each kiss goodbye,
That started as a cordial bisou,
Seemed never quite enough
And your hands-
Finding their way easily inside my clothing-
Felt only teased
By what they had not yet
Touched.
I wanted to take you home-
My hotel-called-home,
With it’s corner balcony that hid
All but the tip of Notre Dame
And my pillows-
Like feather-filled lozenges
That enticed no sleep,
But my concierge had other ideas-
Even on Christmas night
No guests meant no guests,
However cold it was outside
And however innocent
We attempted to look
While the imprint of your lips
Burnt away on my neck.
And so I found myself
On the red sofa
Of your Les Halles living room
Amid your cat and dog,
With His scent everywhere-
Upon the delightfully pillow-like pillows I slept on
And in the painters nightshirt
You dressed me in,
Later on,
When the kisses stopped
And the dawn’s cold air
Dropped by.
We had nothing in common-
Not even a language-
But we were both alone
Amid a city of fairy lights
And family affairs
And what else mattered.
I awoke each night
As you stroked the hair from my face
With your architectural hands-
Your eyes pouring into me-
Looking, perhaps,
For a deeper meaning
Or some forgivable
Justification
But there was nothing
But our basic needs.
Even as you suggested to stay
In contact-
You knew my eyes
Saw your sophomoric lies
And twisted attempts
At half-truths-
Trying to clutch onto something
New and different
In the midst of the complacency
You’d created around you.
There was nothing more
Than two boys
And three nights,
So much shared in silence-
The inevitable not needing a voice.
I waved you goodbye
That last morning
Inside your age-old building,
On your spiraled staircase,
Half a floor below you
With your scent covering me-
Like a blanket
That’s never quite big enough
To stay wrapped in
Forever,
And your cat stated back at me-
Questioning me through half-closed,
Sleep-filled,
Feline eyes,
Sensing the betrayal of the situation
Which she had slept through most of
And I was walking away from.
Behind your green eyes and blond hair
You wondered
How I could mean
So much
In so short a time.
Was it minutes later until his return-
Did you wash the sheets?
Did you hold him
As if he were me
In that bed,
Beneath the darkness
Where we once found each other
And took pleasure in the taste?
Did the cat snarl out the affair
Before you
Or did I dream it all-
The three nights,
The two boys
One brown,
The other blond
And the swift sweet unwrapping
Of mon Cadeau?
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