The Solitary Oak on Mount Kremlin-Bicêtre
by T. Wignesan
for Jean Lapresle, the “Father” of neuro-pathology in France: 1909-2000
On Bicêtre Mount a stately oak did spread its unmeshed
boughs to swarms of sparrows beating retreat
To turtle-doves and flapping pigeon-mates a frolicksome
haven
Where now on thunder-split crutches hop the mocking
magpie
Its black upturned tail uppity down high-domed arches’
smooth-shorn limbs
Desolate within chilled-threaded casements of fading
green
Sleek crows guard the sentinel post where gentle souls
tread lonesome
Once his benign fiery eye caught the tame light in lame
downcast distress
Novice and apprentis sorciers sought the shelter of his
umbrella wing
The charge-nurse at his beck and call
Under the official seal of his high personal chair
Now the lordly craftsman called to lay down his tools in
honorary quack contempt
By some aging loyal birds too meek to fly away
Too lame to avoid the headlong charge down tearing fate
Had him appear in white blouson for the nonce’s sake
No nurse to jump at the phone’s end
No student his ears peeled to every question
No professorial stamp at his command
“You know he takes no new patients…”
The voice trailing hoarse and dead
Carting rough brown bulky dossiers in his failing arms
Furtive
Distraught
A Visitor in his home
Nay A thief in his fiefdom
He stalks a room any room for a moment’s reprieve
The hand now shaky
The date a tussle with memory
Then the long unnoticed wait at the central desk
To ask for his patient the next bi-annual appointment
Patient
Like a patient
A whole life ministering to other personal needs
“When you no more have the charge of the place…”
His eyes want to plead in lieu of apology
Then abruptly the bi-annual rendez-vous is blocked
No excuse no reason is proffered
Only by chance you surmise
The frail fallen oak lies limp in some forsaken lot
T. Wignesan
Copyright ©:
(c) T. Wignesan – Paris, August 1, 2004
A few random poems:
- On An Old Woman (From The Greek) by William Cowper
- Writing Strategy: On Getting Inspired Everyday
- Spenser’s Ireland by Marianne Moore
- Song—Awa’, Whigs, Awa’ by Robert Burns
- This is Love by Rumi
- At A Calvary Near The Ancre by Wilfred Owen
- Николай Гумилев – Орел Синдбада
- One Being Brought From Africa To America by Phillis Wheatley
- Огюст Барбье – Бук
- Валерий Брюсов – К финскому народу
- Василий Казин – Мой отец простой водопроводчик
- Kyrenaikos
- Виталий Тунников – Бумеранг
- Today by Siegfried Sassoon
- Ballad for Gloom poem – Ezra Pound poems
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Sonnet 94: They that have power to hurt and will do none by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 93: So shall I live, supposing thou art true by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 92: But do thy worst to steal thy self away by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 91: Some glory in their birth, some in their skill by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 90: Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 8: Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 89: Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 88: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 87: Farewell! Thou art too dear for my possessing by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 86: Was it the proud full sail of his great verse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 84: Who is it that says most, which can say more by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 83: I never saw that you did painting need by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 82: I grant thou wert not married to my Muse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 81: Or I shall live your epitaph to make by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 80: O, how I faint when I of you do write by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 7: Lo, in the orient when the gracious light by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 79: Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 78: So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 77: Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear by William Shakespeare
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
