Saturday, 20 March 2010

I am thinking of you.

I think of you, often
sometimes I go back into a cafe, I sit near the door, I order a coffee
I arrange my packet of cigarettes, a box of matches, a writing pad, my felt-tip pen on the fake marble table
I spend a long time stirring my cup of coffee with the teaspoon (yet I don't put any sugar in my coffee, I drink it allowing the sugar to melt in my mouth, like the people of the North, like the Russians and Poles when they drink tea)
I pretend to be preoccupied, to be reflecting, as if I had a decision to make
At the top and to the right of the sheet of paper, I inscribe the date, sometimes the place, sometimes the time, I pretend to be writing a letter

I write slowly, very slowly, I write as slowly as I can, I trace, I draw each letter, each accent, I check the punctuation marks

I stare attentively at a small notice, the price-list for ice creams, at a piece of ironwork, a blind, the hexagonal ashtray (in actual fact, it's an equilateral triangle, in the cutoff corners of which semi-circular dents have been made where cigarettes can be rested)


Outside there's a bit of sunlight
the cafe is nearly empty
two renovators' men are having a rum at the bar, the owner is dozing behind his till, the waitress is cleaning the coffee machine

I am thinking of you,
you are walking in your street, it's wintertime, you've turned up your foxfur collar, you're smiling, and remote


'The Street' from 'Species Of Spaces' (1974) by Georges Perec


  1. Good morning.

    That image fits the words so well. How melancholy!

  2. I looove Georges Perec! Everything I've ever read by him is brilliant. I need to read more.

  3. Wow that's really beautiful.
    I'm so glad you shared that.

  4. This is beautiful
    And the image reflects the words so well


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