Yesterday I was chez le coiffeur, and Charles and I were talking about his old-rose garden in Poitou.
I sighed and said, "I am envious. I wish I had just one tree of my own!"
The assistante began to hum "Auprès de mon arbre," the famous song by Georges Brassens.
Charles's face lit up. He recited:
Mon dieu je saurais supporter l'injuste solitude
mais laissez-moi un arbre, un seul pour l'abriter.*
"That's very nice!" I said. "Who wrote that?"
"I did," said Charles. He wrote it down for me and his face took on a dreamy look. "I used to write a lot of poetry when I was young."
"I did too," I said. "My father said that everyone is a poet until age 25."
"I hope one day to begin again, when I have more time and peace," said Charles. He smiled. "I did not imagine this morning that I would ever be reciting my poetry to anyone, but what you said was exactly what I wrote, so it came into my head. C'est merveilleux!"
*[My God, I could bear the unfair loneliness
but leave me one tree, just one, to shelter it.]
My coiffeur is a man of letters as well.
We exchange ideas about books and writing, while he snips my hair. Makes a nice change from reading Paris Match while being coiffed.
Posted by: Catty | 23 June 2006 at 12:44
That's really lovely! My stylist is a lovely woman but not poetic at all... mostly she just talks about her kids and my family members who also frequent her salon. It might be nice to get some poetry with my next haircut!
Posted by: The Bold Soul | 24 June 2006 at 03:40
The only thing my L.A. 'coiffeur' can talk about is how fat he is (he's wiry), how expensive gas is ($3.15 per gallon), or how his new yogi master has realigned his chakras (didn't notice). Tremendously boring, but: (1) he's a magician with hair; (2) I get to read People magazine, which I'd be too embarrassed to buy (I had the same disease in France, would plunge on Gala with delicious shame!)
Posted by: Frog in L.A. | 24 June 2006 at 05:29