The more I read of Jules Supervielle (one of my Junior Paper poets), the more I love him, in particular his collection La Fable du Monde. I love him not just for his beautiful rhythms and his very pictorial style, but also for his theology. One commentator described it as “a lively Franciscan dialogue”; I see in him an attention to the sacramental quality of creation, an eye waiting to see God in the world. This untitled poem below has become one of my favorites.
Derrière trois murs et deux portes,
Vous ne pensez jamais à moi,
Mais la pierre, le chaud, le froid,
Et vous ne m'empêcherez pas
De vous défaire, et vous refaire,
À ma guise, au fond de moi-même
Comme les saisons font des bois
À la surface de la terre.
I heard the poem echoed this past Sunday in the cathedral, when the priest spoke about living sous la regard de l’Évangile (in the eyes, or in the sight of, the Gospel), about letting la parole de Dieu nous interprète (the Word of God interpret us), about Lent as a time when we ask the Spirit of God to change us and help us change.
For all y'all non-French-speaking friends, here is my own translation of the poem; it preserves, I hope, the speed and syllabic pattern, but not the end rhymes (which are ABBBCDBC).
Behind three walls and two doors,
You never think of me,
But stone, the cold, the heat
And you don’t stop me as I
Unmake you and remake you,
As I like, deep in myself
Like seasons make the woods
On the surface of the earth.
Friday, February 27
In "la Petite France", an uncovered Pont Couvert.
This was drawn the same day as the Sunday afternoon stroll--see the last two pictures here for the real-life versions.
(click image for detail)
Building-Love
I fell in love at first sight, and my love only grows at further contemplation. *sigh* Despite the noisy (and occasionally noisome) population of lycée (high school) kids which poor out for the two-hour lunch break, it always charms me, with its carvings (owls, sea maidens, flowering trees) and its miss-matched towers and windows. It reminds me of Diana, and my big green book of The Collected Grimms' Fairy Tales, and secret candles burning late at night.
I don't really love this building, but I do love the birds! They're always sweeping about in alternately creepy and picturesque manners; it makes me think of the birds in Mary Poppins, outside of St. Paul's. My camera never seems to be ready to catch them.
"Love" is perhaps not the right word for Gallia (my dorm)--"well-worn affection", maybe? At the very least it's home. This is the view from the bridge to the west of it (looking right or left would show you the canals), and these are the tram stops. Trams E and C stop here, which I remember by thinking "Chicken" and "Emily". (Or "Choose Elephants!", or "Children Eat".)
This is part of the view from out my window, the top of the building with the little stained-glass arch (which you can see here in the corner). I've come to like the slopes of the roof, the shapes of all the pieces, the steps leading up to the front; I like how it looks different in different lights, different weather or parts of the day.
La grève
This means "the strike", which is what quelques anarchistes ("a few anarchists", as my Ecumenism prof put it) have been keeping up for a while now. These pictures are views from my window; they're marching up one of the main streets, with some music and lots of rhythmic shouting. The protest is about the so-called "capitalization of the university", which amounts essentially to reforms being carried out which would allow (among many other things) businesses to give money to universities for particular programs, and the creation of departments which have a particular career path. All of the changes are things which make sense to Americans and which seem very reasonable and positive; but the attitude here is that higher education is a public service (which means it costs only 100 euro!) and should not be affected by "the market" (which is a dirty word in France, says Alex).
One of the most frustrating things about the grève is that the professors who take part in it simply don't come to class, which means that the majority of the students at the university, who just want an education, aren't able to just learn! This means they may have to graduate later, or retake classes, etc. While I understand the students who choose to jeopardize their own academic standing, it seems incredibly selfish to me when they, for example, block off classrooms with piles of chairs so that no one else can go to class either.
One of the most frustrating things about the grève is that the professors who take part in it simply don't come to class, which means that the majority of the students at the university, who just want an education, aren't able to just learn! This means they may have to graduate later, or retake classes, etc. While I understand the students who choose to jeopardize their own academic standing, it seems incredibly selfish to me when they, for example, block off classrooms with piles of chairs so that no one else can go to class either.
Tuesday, February 24
News About the Summer!
I just found out that I've been accepted to the Princeton-in-France summer internship program, and that I got my first choice of the stages (internships) : working at the Fondation Monet, in Giverny!
There were many placement options to request, including a dreamy one at the Musée d'Orsay, which was my second choice. I hope that Giverny will be the best for me, though, not just because of the many practicalities (especially the free housing vs. trying to find a Paris apartment) but also because it's an entirely different type of work--the stagiares (interns) get to actually work with the gardeners and take care of the grounds, among other more clerical and art-related tasks. So not only do I get to spend some warmer months in France, but I also get to spend them playing with plants in the dirt! My ideal vacation.
Giverny is a tiny (tourist) town northwest of Paris, situated in the valley of the Seine. You can take a train from Paris to Vernon, and then rent a bicycle or walk the 5km to Giverny (or, pour les paresseuses, take the summer shuttle or a taxi). I do worry a little bit that I might get bored (of course there's not as much to do as in Strasbourg), but the weather will be warm and the days will be long, and the whole area looks just perfect for taking long walks. Or maybe I'll meet a nice paysan who can teach me how to drive a truck, or a friendly artiste to help me with my charcoals, or, best of all, un cuisinier (a "chef") to show me how best to put to use all that cheese and summer fruit . . .
There were many placement options to request, including a dreamy one at the Musée d'Orsay, which was my second choice. I hope that Giverny will be the best for me, though, not just because of the many practicalities (especially the free housing vs. trying to find a Paris apartment) but also because it's an entirely different type of work--the stagiares (interns) get to actually work with the gardeners and take care of the grounds, among other more clerical and art-related tasks. So not only do I get to spend some warmer months in France, but I also get to spend them playing with plants in the dirt! My ideal vacation.
Giverny is a tiny (tourist) town northwest of Paris, situated in the valley of the Seine. You can take a train from Paris to Vernon, and then rent a bicycle or walk the 5km to Giverny (or, pour les paresseuses, take the summer shuttle or a taxi). I do worry a little bit that I might get bored (of course there's not as much to do as in Strasbourg), but the weather will be warm and the days will be long, and the whole area looks just perfect for taking long walks. Or maybe I'll meet a nice paysan who can teach me how to drive a truck, or a friendly artiste to help me with my charcoals, or, best of all, un cuisinier (a "chef") to show me how best to put to use all that cheese and summer fruit . . .
Friday, February 13
A Trip to Nancy : Strange Desserts and White Buildings
Our program director, Alex, took us on a day-trip to Nancy last Saturday.
As soon as we got there we sat down for a two hour lunch at a fancy and fun Art Nouveau restaurant--this is apparently What You Have to Do when you go to Nancy, in order to appreciate both some regional dishes of Nancy and the history of Art Nouveau, which has scrawled its leafy elongated lines all over the city. The restaurant had a high ceiling with garish gold flowers branching across the white plaster, and the windows were all stained glass and metal curls. Our end of the table (Tara, myself, and three enjoyably argumentative boys) decided to take a chance and order "le Douceur du Roi Stanislas" for dessert. We were encouraged to this chance both by the glass(es) of lovely white wine we'd had and the excellent dead birds we'd been served. I was imagining a kind of cake, Tara was hoping for a sort of mousse, and the boys, lacking imagination, said they just hoped it would taste good. We were all wrong.
The waiters (wearing slim suits and shiny shoes) slipped into the room with trays and a cloud of sharp alcoholic stink. They set before us big white bowls containing a kind of bready thing (crusty on the outside, soft on the inside and shaped like a mushroom) which was accompanied by an artistic cushion of creamy white fluff and was bathing in a lake of liquid (most of which it had already absorbed). The liquid explained the stink: our boys debated whether it was rum or gin, but Tara and I agreed that it just smelled like nail polish remover. We took some tentative bites only to conclude that it also tasted like nail polish remover; the boys finished most of theirs, and I recovered my taste buds with un petit cafe creme. Tara and are willing to make this charming dessert for our friends back home--all you need is to deep-fry a stale muffin and put it in a bowl with a cup of rubbing alcohol and a dollop of Cool Whip!
Then Alex took us for a short walk. (It was going to be a longer walk, but he thought we'd like to return to Strasbourg without wind burn or frostbite.)
This is Place Stanislas, named after the Polish fellow who became king of the region after many intrigues involving fathers-in-law, daughters, nieces, and hunting lodges. He loved food, and actually invented the dessert which we attempted to eat.
We enjoyed seeing buildings which were neither brown nor gray, as most are in Strasbourg.
One of the old gates in medievalish Nancy--the motto of the region is "Ce qui se frotte se pique" (no dirty jokes Diana! I already made them all hehe) which means "If you brush up against me you'll get poked", and their symbol is the thistle, which you can see here. And if you're wondering why there's a cross of Jerusalem--well, it's a long boring story, you can look it up yourself on Wikipedia.
Alex's second-youngest son Oscar is maybe not so fascinated by the history of the region . . .
. . . so instead he sits on his dad's shoulders and is distracted by singing us adorable French songs he learned in school.
And then we went to an Art Nouveau museum!! Our tour guide unfortunately was talented enough to pick the ugliest pieces in each room to lecture on, so I just listening with one ear and did lots of drawings until I was artnouveau'd out. (I'll hopefully be able to post them soon, once I find a scanner.)
As soon as we got there we sat down for a two hour lunch at a fancy and fun Art Nouveau restaurant--this is apparently What You Have to Do when you go to Nancy, in order to appreciate both some regional dishes of Nancy and the history of Art Nouveau, which has scrawled its leafy elongated lines all over the city. The restaurant had a high ceiling with garish gold flowers branching across the white plaster, and the windows were all stained glass and metal curls. Our end of the table (Tara, myself, and three enjoyably argumentative boys) decided to take a chance and order "le Douceur du Roi Stanislas" for dessert. We were encouraged to this chance both by the glass(es) of lovely white wine we'd had and the excellent dead birds we'd been served. I was imagining a kind of cake, Tara was hoping for a sort of mousse, and the boys, lacking imagination, said they just hoped it would taste good. We were all wrong.
The waiters (wearing slim suits and shiny shoes) slipped into the room with trays and a cloud of sharp alcoholic stink. They set before us big white bowls containing a kind of bready thing (crusty on the outside, soft on the inside and shaped like a mushroom) which was accompanied by an artistic cushion of creamy white fluff and was bathing in a lake of liquid (most of which it had already absorbed). The liquid explained the stink: our boys debated whether it was rum or gin, but Tara and I agreed that it just smelled like nail polish remover. We took some tentative bites only to conclude that it also tasted like nail polish remover; the boys finished most of theirs, and I recovered my taste buds with un petit cafe creme. Tara and are willing to make this charming dessert for our friends back home--all you need is to deep-fry a stale muffin and put it in a bowl with a cup of rubbing alcohol and a dollop of Cool Whip!
Then Alex took us for a short walk. (It was going to be a longer walk, but he thought we'd like to return to Strasbourg without wind burn or frostbite.)
This is Place Stanislas, named after the Polish fellow who became king of the region after many intrigues involving fathers-in-law, daughters, nieces, and hunting lodges. He loved food, and actually invented the dessert which we attempted to eat.
We enjoyed seeing buildings which were neither brown nor gray, as most are in Strasbourg.
One of the old gates in medievalish Nancy--the motto of the region is "Ce qui se frotte se pique" (no dirty jokes Diana! I already made them all hehe) which means "If you brush up against me you'll get poked", and their symbol is the thistle, which you can see here. And if you're wondering why there's a cross of Jerusalem--well, it's a long boring story, you can look it up yourself on Wikipedia.
Alex's second-youngest son Oscar is maybe not so fascinated by the history of the region . . .
. . . so instead he sits on his dad's shoulders and is distracted by singing us adorable French songs he learned in school.
And then we went to an Art Nouveau museum!! Our tour guide unfortunately was talented enough to pick the ugliest pieces in each room to lecture on, so I just listening with one ear and did lots of drawings until I was artnouveau'd out. (I'll hopefully be able to post them soon, once I find a scanner.)
Thursday, February 5
Mild Adventures in Grocery-Store Land
Of COURSE the wine section is right next to the "Hygiene and Beauty" section! Why WOULDN'T you put all the alcohol next to the lotion, soaps, and towels?
DUCK POWER! (Okay, yes, I'm five years old . . . hehehehe!)
a lazy Sunday stroll
Looking north; Gallia, my dorm, is to the right (across 2 bridges) of this church.
Secretly violent swans paddle around and hiss at any feisty Yorkie who tries to get too close. And surprise, another church! This one is Protestant--you can tell by how clean and restrained it looks (hehe).
Place Benjamin Zix, in the area of the city known as "La Petite France"; wins the Emily Garcia Prize for Most Enjoyable Place Name to Say, as well as Prize for Name Which You Think You've Heard Before But Haven't ("Walter Benjamin? Benjamin Blix? Damnit!").
In La Petite France, at the medieval Ponts Couverts (bridges which are covered no longer, and haven't been for a long time). This is the southwestern edge of the city center, the little island in the middle of the Ill River which used to be fortified (hence the menacing towers).
This is what you see if you just turn to the right (from the above picture). My second favorite building in Strasbourg--this little white house is just perched there in the middle of the canal. The spire in the background is THE Strasbourg cathedral; beautiful and a useful navigating device, since you can see it from everywhere in the city.
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