{"id":13687,"date":"2019-04-02T16:02:25","date_gmt":"2019-04-02T21:02:25","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/two-poems-by-david-kirby\/"},"modified":"2026-05-07T12:49:23","modified_gmt":"2026-05-07T17:49:23","slug":"two-poems-by-david-kirby","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2019\/04\/02\/two-poems-by-david-kirby\/","title":{"rendered":"Two Poems by David Kirby"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>David Kirby<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>The Demimonde<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I\u2019m not so much walking as tilting a little to the left and falling<br>forward and then tilting to the right by way of compensation<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; as I make my way down the Rue du Temple in Paris sometime<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;after most but not all of the bars have closed, and at one point<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I slip halfway in the open door of a club through which<br>a beautiful wild-haired woman is slipping halfway out,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and as we disentangle, she grabs my face in both hands and says,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;\u201c<em>Qui \u00eates-vous<\/em>?\u201d and before I can answer, I think<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; so this is the demimonde, a word I encountered in my early teens<br>and which I thought then described a locale where I would<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; have been right at home, though it took me years to learn that<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;\u201cdemimonde\u201d referred not to a place but people. Theirs was<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; a half-world of drink, drugs, gambling, promiscuity; the rest<br>of the world both envied and disapproved of the demimondaines,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; who managed to float above the squalor of ordinary sinners<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;in large part thanks to the vast amounts of cash they spent<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; to maintain themselves in haute couture, servants,<br>houses in own and country. The wisest of them invested<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; at least some of that wealth against the day when age<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;took its toll and their looks faded, so that they ended up<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; well cared for, if alone and, not ugly, exactly,<br>but certainly less toothsome than they were once.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Tibetan Buddhists believe in a world they call the bardo,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;which is like the demimonde in that it is halfway between<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; one state of existence and another, though in this case,<br>death and rebirth rather than respectability and sleaze.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; In the bardo, you meet all sorts of creatures: gods, heros,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;imps, sirens, temptresses. The bardo is like the demimonde<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; that way, that is, a fun place to visit because of all<br>the interesting characters you meet yet a world that\u2019s easier<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; to enter than it is to leave and one that is, in the end, perilous.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Yet are we not always between one place and another,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; as when, on June 7, 1968, you were watching an episode<br>of <em>Mister Rogers\u2019 Neighborhood<\/em> with your kids,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and Lady Aberlin is blowing up a balloon, and Daniel<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Striped Tiger is worried about her because he sees<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; that she\u2019s emptying all the air out of her lungs, but Lady<br>Aberlin says it\u2019s okay because she all she has to do is simply<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; breathe in again, which is when Daniel Striped Tiger says,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;\u201cWhat does \u2018assassination\u2019 mean?\u201d A day earlier, Bobby<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Kennedy had been shot dead at the Ambassador Hotel<br>in Los Angeles while campaigning for the presidency,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and now Lady Aberlin is saying, \u201cHave you heard that word<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;a lot today?\u201d and Daniel Striped Tiger says, \u201cYes,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and I didn&#8217;t know what it meant,\u201d and she says, \u201cWell,<br>it means somebody getting killed in a sort of surprise way,\u201d<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and he says, \u201cThat&#8217;s what happened, you know? That man<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;killed that other man.\u201d Actually, Kennedy was shot on June 5<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and didn\u2019t die until the next day. Where was he in the hours<br>between, and who? Not in this world, and not in the next.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I hope you were dreaming, Bobby. I hope you were playing ball<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;or sailing, the sun so bright that you disappeared into yourself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I\u2019d praise this world if I thought it could hear me: \u201cWorld,\u201d<br>I\u2019d say, \u201cthank you for telling me everything I need to hear,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; even if I don\u2019t always listen.\u201d Other people are stumbling<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;in and out of this club now, and I know I\u2019m not<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; in the bardo and that the people are real and not ghosts<br>and that it\u2019s nothing more than the wine and the exhaustion and the late hour<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and the mist coming off the river and the boat horns<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;and the bump-bump of the beats from the club\u2019s overloud speakers<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; as the beautiful wild-haired woman takes my face<br>in her hands and again says, \u201c<em>Qui \u00eates-vous<\/em>?\u201d as the streetlights bend<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; slowly toward me and then pop upright<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;and I try to clear my head and I look at her and say, \u201cNo one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:25px\"><strong>Whatever Happened to Gino Romantico?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; In Carmignano, we try to find the bakery that makes<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; these famous cookies we\u2019ve heard of, and finally<br>we meet an old timer who tells us that the bakery<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; is closed because the baker is ill and not expected<br>to live, and the old gent sighs and crosses himself<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and looks off sadly for a moment at the fields<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; just outside the town limits and then chuckles<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and says, \u201cActually, I know a bakery that\u2019s better,\u201d<br>and off we go to the other bakery, but not before<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I think of a guy we used to call Gino Romantico<br>whom we used to see outside the English building<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; when we were students, and he was handsome<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and tanned, and his hair was perfect, and there<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; was always a girl with him, and she was laughing,<br>and the next day it\u2019d be a different girl,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and she\u2019d be laughing, too, and we resented him<br>yet were drawn to him, and the girls were, too, but nobody<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; knew his name, so we called him Gino Romantico,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and a year later, he wasn\u2019t there, so we used<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; to ask ourselves, whatever happened to Gino<br>Romantico? Whatever happens to anyone.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Melted like snow, says Fran\u00e7ois Villon,<br>from H\u00e9loise and Blanche of Castille to Joan,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; \u201cthat good woman from Lorraine \/ whom the English<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; burned at Rouen.\u201d We called him Gino Romantico because<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; he looked Italian, like Primo Levi, who really was Italian,<br>who survived Auschwitz and wrote <em>If This Is a Man<\/em>, the best book<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; about the camps, and who died later in mysterious circumstances:<br>one morning in 1987, he was found at the base<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; of the stairwell of his building, having fallen or jumped<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; from the landing on the third floor, where he lived.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Levi suffered from depression, and the police thought<br>he took his own life, but here\u2019s the thing: for him,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Auschwitz was actually a positive experience<br>because it gave him a reason to live. He himself<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; called the camp his adventure, his university,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; his \u201ctime in Technicolor.\u201d Primo Levi was depressed<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; before and after Auschwitz, but not while he was in it.<br>We know less about Fran\u00e7ois Villon, only that<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; he was born in Paris in 1431 and disappeared from view<br>in 1463. Between those years he killed a priest in a brawl,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; joined a gang of thieves and stole 500 gold crowns<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; from the chapel of the Coll\u00e8ge de Navarre, and was in<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and out of prison for these and other crimes, yet somehow<br>he became the best known French poet of the Middle Ages.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; And then what? He may have died in some cheap tavern<br>or in a cold cell or in a dark street in a little town<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; or perhaps, as he always feared, on the gallows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; We\u2019ll never know, whereas we know that<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Primo Levi survived Auschwitz largely because<br>of a bricklayer named Lorenzo Perone, who was not<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; himself a prisoner but one of the camp\u2019s many<br>civilian workers and who smuggled two liters of soup to Levi<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; every day, without which he would have died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Soup and friendship: these saved Levi\u2019s life<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and may even have let him see that there was<br>a force of goodness greater than the will to power,<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; that the Nazi shadow was only temporary, that there<br>was light and beauty beyond its reach. In Carmignano<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; we make our way past the church of San Michele<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and down the Via Bellini to the address<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; the man gave us earlier, but there\u2019s no bakery there,<br>though a woman waiting for a bus tells us the bakery<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; we want is two streets over in the Via del Castello,<br>so we go around a bend and up the wrong street<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; and turn back, and there at last is the bakery<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; we\u2019ve been looking for, so we buy a couple of bags<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; of the cookies that are supposed to be better than the ones<br>we\u2019d hoped to buy in the first place, and even though<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; it\u2019s a cold day, we sit outside on a pair of little chairs<br>and open one of the bags and take out a cookie each and bite<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; into it, and you say yeah, these cookies are really good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>David Kirby&#8217;s<\/strong> collection <em>The House on Boulevard St.: New and Selected Poems<\/em> was a finalist for the National Book Award in 2007. Kirby is the author of <em>Little Richard: The Birth of Rock &#8216;n&#8217; Roll<\/em>, which the <em>Times Literary Supplement<\/em> of London called &#8220;a hymn of praise to the emancipatory power of nonsense.&#8221; Kirby&#8217;s honors include fellowships from the National Endowment of the Arts and the Guggenheim Foundation. His latest poetry collection is <em>Get Up, Please<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">&lt;&lt; <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2019\/04\/03\/happy-anniversary-darling-by-mary-hanrahan\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2019\/04\/30\/two-poems-by-nicholas-molbert\/\">Next<\/a> &gt;&gt;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>David Kirby __________ The Demimonde &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; I\u2019m not so much walking as tilting a little to the left and fallingforward and then tilting to the right by way of compensation&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[253,17],"tags":[55,18],"class_list":["post-13687","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-boudin-2019-spring-edition","category-poetry","tag-davidkirby","tag-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13687","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13687"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13687\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":22529,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13687\/revisions\/22529"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13687"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13687"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13687"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}