Au Fond de la Seine...

Last Friday in our photography workshop, I was given the poem "Complainte de la Seine" by Maurice Magre, for me to illustrate with a single photo I take. The poem is a bit morbid, but intriguing nonetheless. Here is the English translation:

Lament of the Seine

At the bottom of the Seine there is gold,
rusting boats, jewels, weapons.
At the bottom of the Seine there are dead bodies.
At the bottom of the Seine there are tears.

At the bottom of the Seine there are flowers,
in their vase of mud, they are nourished by silt.
At the bottom of the Seine there are the hearts
that suffered greatly from having lived life.

And then the rocks and the grey beasts
The pipes of the sewers blowing out poisons,
The rings cast off by unappreciative lovers,
The feet cut off by a propeller From their trunk.

And the cursed fruits of sterile wombs,
The innocent abortions that no one loved,
The vomit of the grand city...
On the bottom of the Seine they are there.

Oh, lenient Seine where the cadavers go,
Oh, the bed with sheets made of silt,
River of losses with neither beacon nor haven,
Singing a lullaby to the morgue and the bridges.

Welcoming the poor one, welcoming the woman,
welcoming the drunkard, welcoming the insane one,
Mixing their sobs to the sound of your tears,
And carrying their heart among the rocks.

At the bottom of the Seine there is gold,
the rusted boats, the jewels, the weapons.
At the bottom of the Seine there are the dead.
At the bottom of the Seine there are tears.

(in French)

Au fond de la Seine il y a de l'or,
Des bateaux rouillés, des bijoux, des armes.
Au fond de la Seine il y a des larmes.

Au fond de la Seine il y a des fleurs,
De vase et de boue elles sont nourries.
Au fond de la Seine il y a des coeurs
Qui souffrient trop pour vivre la vie.

Et puis des cailloux et des bêtes grises,
L'âme des égouts soufflant des poisons,
Les anneaux jetés par des incomprises,
Des pieds qu'une hélice a coupés du trone.

Et les fruits maudits des ventres stériles,
Laits blancs avortés que nul n'aima,
Les vomissements de la grand' ville,
Au fond de la Seine il y a cela.

O Seine clémente ou vont des cadavres,
Au lit dont les draps sont faits de limon.
Fleuve des déchets sans fanal ni havre,
Chanteuse berçant la morgue, ils le font.

Accueille le pauvre, accueille la femme
Accueille l'ivrogne, accueille le fou,
Mêle leurs sanglots au bruit de tes larmes
Et porte leur coeur parmi les cailloux.

Au fond de la Seine il a de l'or,
Des bateaux rouillés, des bijoux, des armes.
Au fond de la Seine il y a des morts
Au fond de la Seine il a des larmes.

It paints a rather dark picture of the Seine river, which flows through such a lively city. However, this day was cloudy with hint of rain, I was in a bit of a morose mood, so I was very inspired to walk along the river for a couple hours in the afternoon looking for an scene to photograph. I took the metro to Passy station, which is just across the river from the Eiffel Tour, and then walked southwest along the edge of the river, away from the center of the city. Anyways, here are a couple photos I took that I thought captured aspects of the poem.

Later in the afternoon I went for a run along Rue de Rome and found the block with at least a dozen music instrument shops. Violins, bases, guitars, horns, you name it. At one of the many violin shops, I could see the craftsmen working on various parts of violins in the workshop. It was really cool, I have to return again when I'm not in running clothes.

After dinner, I met up with Rachel at a really cool cafe called La Cantoche Paname to study a little for our game of jeopardy in our biology/evolution class. We got distracted by a nutella tiramisu and peach kir, and by the nostalgiac childhood theme of the place. They had various toys all over the walls and the menus were written in school notebooks. They had signs for "Soldes," or sales on food items on the walls. I'll definitely go back for a full meal, it was a really fun place to find.