Paris and Poetry

As a poet I often get very confused questions that somehow seem to relate to the fact that I happen to live in Paris. Let me make one thing clear, I did not chose to live in Paris, no person in their right mind would ever chose to live in Paris. I live in Paris because a) it minimises my contact with my fellow countrymen (which certainly is a good thing), and b) my girlfriend insists we have to live here because of her job. I do not know what her job is and honestly I do not care, all I know is that it takes a lot of understanding and sacrifice on my part because of this.

People somehow have the idea that being a poet it is natural to live in Paris, as if Paris in itself had something to do with poetry. This is of course complete nonsense, let me provide you novices about Paris with some basic facts before you run around and annoy suffering artists like me with your infantile remarks like "Oh Paris is so beautiful" or "It must be so romantic?!"

1. Paris is filled with Parisians. For those of you who do not know what that means I can tell you that this is a bunch of people who have an attention span of a goldfish (yes scientists now claim that goldfishes are intelligent - what does that tell us about scientists?!), are more egocentric than a spoiled house cat on drugs and walk around with the same view on themselves and their importance as the Russian President.

2. Parisians drive motor vehicles. Take point 1 above and put them with a stinking car or motorcycle and you quickly understands why you suddenly meet a motorcycle in full speed on the minimal sidewalk when walking with a baby stroller, or find a huge SUV parked on the zebra crossing or sidewalk with the the engine running, air condition on, window open so that the driver can enjoy a cigarette. Not to mention the fact that also Parisians have cars with horns.

3. Parisians have dogs. The easiest way to separate tourists from those who have the misfortune to live in Paris is by the fact that all who have spent more than two weeks in Paris are walking with their eyes staring on the pavement and the dog poo radar on full alert. There is seriously so much dog poo on the streets that the Parisians even have invented the superstition that stepping into a pile of dog poo with your left foot means luck! That way you are "lucky" fifty percent of the times you step in dog poo - a strategy which of course only works if you are a gold fish minded Parisian.

4. Parisians are polite. Beware when you hear someone utter the word "Pardon", that is usually only used as an excuse for elbowing you to get before in line, to push you out of the way in order to save five extra steps, to stop you from entering the Metro by suddenly blocking the door, or for hitting you with a heavy handbag, umbrella or whatever comes in handy, just for the sheer pleasure of it.

5. Parisians have money. To have enough money to be totally arrogant towards others is a requirement for being a Parisian - it does not matter how many generations you and your family has lived in Paris, without enough money to look down on those inferior people who actually work and toil to make ends meet, you are not a real Parisian. Because part of being Parisian is to make everybody not born in wealth know that they are losers.

6. Parisians hate Paris. Paris is actually such a dreadful place to live in that also Parisians desperately try to avoid it to all the extent they can. That is why it is a requirement to go away from Paris on any school leave - February to the alps, Spring leave to Normandie, Summer abroad or the Riviera, Fall abroad (preferably London or New York). But the most striking illustration on how much the Parisians hate Paris is when all Parisians come back to the city - the infamous rentrée - and they face the horror of living in Paris in comparison to any other place they have just visited. The normal, so famous Parisian ambiance with its nice mixture of stress, insults and physical abuse goes through the roof for a couple of weeks before settling at its normal level of just plain unbearableness.

So next time when you hang at tourist traps that you think are "typically Parisian" like Le Deux Magot or Café de Flore and you are about to harass some poor artist - please consider the pressure we artists live under, add the fact that we even have to live in Paris, and just go back to pretend that you are a a typical Parisian intellectual like Sartre; a spoilt snob from a wealthy background, bred by a typical French elite school who never had to work one day in his life - and refrain yourself.