In La Bastille

Monday: A little relapsed. I feel silly, of course, acknowledging the dismay at an email halfway through this past week, announcing the moving of the next “Spoken Word” event to a new location. I’d had that Belleville location, now; Culture Rapide (the bar/café) was now a cinch. Well, I guess I’m glad I saw it that once, red walls plastered with what looked like the Northern Sun catalog exploded, body-sized tight spiral of a stair down to the wee rudimentary toilet in the cellar. In hearing, gradually, the explanations for the seemingly abrupt move, I gathered (well; more than gathered; David Barnes finally explained it all explicitly to the assembled) that after years at that location, the break had been coming since June.

It may turn out to be a moveable feast, at least for a while. Next Monday’s venue is still TBA. This Monday’s was not hard to find (!), in the Bastille, or just past Bastille, area. We started very late, again; maybe this is normal, but also there was a certain amount of bumbling around, trying to determine a “stage” area, where there could be a spotlight (which in the end, for this evening, was done without entirely), etc. Eventually the café was packed to standing room, again. Alberto, who is Italian, presided rather than David (this can be deduced, not just from the standing in front, announcing each participant, and ringing the bell for time-warning and time-up, but by the wearing of the top hat, like a circus ringmaster).

I signed up, and in due time, read. The group is very kind, very supportive of everyone. At the break, waiting to order at the bar, I wound up talking—mainly listening—to a homesick graduate student at the Sorbonne, originally from Minnesota, but at present from the University of Florida. She loves poetry, but doesn’t write it. At all. I thought that bore mentioning.

The evening didn’t end until after midnight. Pedestrians were sparse by then, shops and restaurants closed. A little look-over-the-shoulder inducing, after one brief encounter with two guys, but completely uneventful in the end except for the tired, tired aspect.