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

(c) T. Wignesan – Paris, August 1, 2004