#jamesfenton

[dongsonglodang]

“ Thực ra những thứ ám ảnh bạn không phải là những ký ức của bạn  Không phải những điều bạn đã viết ra  Mà là những điều bạn đã quên, bạn phải quên  Những điều bạn phải tiếp tục quên suốt cả đời mình...”

[tamanbacarindang-blog]

THE FALL OF SAIGON. James Fenton. 35.000,- Seken, bahasa Inggris. #thefallofsaigon #jamesfenton #bukulangka #bukujadul #bukubekas #bukuseken #bukulawas #bukuterjemahan #jualbukunovel #jualbukusastra #jualbukubekas #jualbukuumum #jualbukuindonesia #bukubaru #bookstagram #book #booklover #bukusejarah #bukukiri #bukubagus #bukuklasik #fikfan #kumpulancerpen #tereliye #harrypotter

[sophieroseinparis]

Found James Fenton

In Paris With You

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 I've been through. I admit I'm on the rebound And I don't care where are 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 sodding Notre Dame,  If we skip the Champs Elysées 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. 

-James Fenton

[certainlyabsurd]

In Paris With You -- James Fenton

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 I’ve been through. I admit I’m on the rebound And I don’t care where are 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 sodding Notre Dame, If we skip the Champs Elysées 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.

[nowiunderstandx]

"What would the dead want from us Watching from their cave? Would they have us forever howling? Would they have us rave Or disfigure ourselves, or be strangled Like some ancient emperor’s slave? None of my dead friends were emperors With such exorbitant tastes And none of them were so vengeful As to have all their friends waste Waste quite away in sorrow Disfigured and defaced. I think the dead would want us To weep for what they have lost. I think that our luck in continuing Is what would affect them most. But time would find them generous And less self-engrossed. And time would find them generous As they used to be And what else would they want from us Than an honoured place in our memory, favourite room, a hallowed chair, Privilege and celebrity? And so the dead might cease to grieve And we might make amends And there might be a pact between Dead friends and living friends. What our dead friends would want from us Would be such living friends."

New Yorker write-up on Christopher Hitchens' memorial service. This is a poem by James Fenton that really landed in the right place this evening.