Tasmania was fabulous. More on that shortly. In the meantime, here’s a poem I fiddled with while I was there after I found two unfinished poems from 1998’s trip to Holland in an old notebook. The Café Tabac of the title is in Den Haag and is this fabulous café actually called Parterre, filled with obscure lamps, old typewriters, golf bags and more nik naks than you can imagine. The poem is Walt Whitman-over-the-top and I like it that way.
04/03/05: Café Tabac (re-edit from 04/11/98)
I half-expect Gitane-smoking men
To flow through the door,
Exclaiming: “The world is here
And demands exultation!
O celebrate, you daughters of justice!
O weep, you children of suspicion!
The ivy has freed the streetlamps.
Statues guard ancient typewriters:
Rejoice in their observances.
Stand back, you fathers of tyranny.
Here are books in all languages,
Lip to lip, sighing together.
O breathe, you framed portraits —
Yours is the burden of history
And the travails of reflection.”