MarkADHay
This Poem drifts through the blurred lines between memory, imagination, and longing. It's a meditation on youthful yearning, where cities like Paris, London, and Rome loom large as mythic places, more real on the page than in lived experience. The speaker, once captivated by the romanticism of art and poetry, conjures up ghostly visions of Monet and Pissarro, of Ezra Pound committing literary violence in sunlit exile and T.S. Eliot haunting the damp streets of London.
There's a wistful self-awareness in the voice, someone who knows they've only ever been places through the minds of others, their travel passport stamped with ink and verses. Time stretches the distance between desire and reality, but what remains is the trace, the echo, the impression. Just like the Impressionists rendered light and mood over precision, the poem paints not the world, but the way it felt to yearn for it.