Stay Connected“You feel right to me,” she said. “Like naked on cashmere.”
Atticus presents a daily poetry reading of all his poems you know and love, and some you have yet to discover.
This is a moment to pause. A space for self-reflection. A chance for you to rediscover the poetry in life. We hope it’s going to feel really good — like naked on cashmere.
Copyright: © 2019 Naked on Cashmere by Atticus - Produced by Podcast Nation
Oh no,
I’ve had the slow murmur of a Paris thought,
the kind that won’t leave
until well after
a month-long-week
of rosé,
cafés,
and sunsets on the Seine.
xx Atticus
"Paris in Spring” by Sara Teasdale
The city's all a-shining
Beneath a fickle sun,
A gay young wind's a-blowing,
The little shower is done.
But the rain-drops still are clinging
And falling one by one --
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time has begun.
I know the Bois is twinkling
In a sort of hazy sheen,
And down the Champs the gray old arch
Stands cold and still between.
But the walk is flecked with sunlight
Where the great acacias lean,
Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And the leaves are growing green.
The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead,
There falls a dash of rain,
But who would care when such an air
Comes blowing up the Seine?
And still Ninette sits sewing
Beside her window-pane,
When it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time's come again.
xx Atticus
There is no safer place I know
than tucked
in a corner
of a café in Paris
with a bottle of rosé
and an afternoon to spare.
xx Atticus
In the mornings
she taught me French
and after breakfast she would paint
and I would write
and as the spring rain fell on the skylight
and the tea steamed from its mugs
my heart hummed
to the music
of the dream
we’d found.
xx Atticus
The way you flirt with Paris
I am forgotten
left in the spinning blossom
of your love—
and all I can do is
watch you both
and smile
as the gardens bloom.
xx Atticus
"Fourth Caprice in Montparnasse" by TS Eliot
We turn the corner of the street
And again
Here is a landscape grey with rain
On black umbrellas, waterproofs,
And dashing from the slated roofs
Into a mass of mud and sand.
Behind a row of blackened trees.
The dripping plastered houses stand
Like mendicants without regrets
For unpaid debts
Hand in pocket, undecided,
Indifferent if derided.
Among such scattered thoughts as these
We turn the corner of the street;
But why are we so hard to please?
xx Atticus
Hello, and welcome to another week of Naked on Cashmere. This week, Atticus explores the theme PARIS and invites you to take a moment each day to reflect on what this means to you. Xx
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Today, we’re starting off with “Give Me A Room In Paris.”
Xx
Give me a room in Paris
the smaller, the better
and it must be winter
and it must be cold
so we can make it hot
too hot to sit still
and the window must be thin
so we can hear the bells
and the power must surge and bubble
so the lights flicker
and the records skip
let the water be weak
so our coffee is strong
so we can stay up late to dance.
Give me this Paris
and I will paint for you
all the truths I know
about magic.
Other Poem Read Today:
xx Atticus
Poetry
to me
is stumbling in the dark
searching for
the right words
to describe
the feeling
I get
when she smiles
while she sleeps.
xx Atticus
“Acquainted with the Night” by Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night
xx Atticus
The sunset raged
in its gentle fury
a four-horsed apocalypse
charging toward us
huddled on a beach
in woolen blankets
singing songs
on a ukulele
to the ever-riding doom of dark.
xx Atticus
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