Flaneur: "to idle about", "An aimless idler; a loafer", "an idle man-about-town ", "one who strolls aimlessly through urban spaces" NOTE: In the poem the word "Paris" is pronounced the French way "PAR-EE"
The flaneur just drifts though life,
He has no kids and has no wife,
He lives a life with little strife,
And travels on his own.
He strolls around in "Gay Paris",
His life is truly fancy-free,
On Seine's Right Bank is where he'll be,
The man just loves to roam.
He watches men play Boules Ball,
On urban streets and lanes so small,
With traffic lights and city sprawl,
He never feels alone.
He eats at small outdoor cafes,
Then walks around most every day,
And looks for places he can stay,
He's never going home.
And just as I love country scenes,
The city life is what he dreams,
With all its noisy street-machines,
And signs of glass and chrome.
And after all is said and done,
He's travelled 'round and had his fun,
Then laid to rest at setting sun,
His life is etched in stone.
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Nice effort, a little choppy, but I was able to follow it. By the way, why not just put gay Par-ee in the poem? It is after all supposed to be poetry. I have read your limericks they flow much better.
Now this really gives a great description of the flaneur. I like it because it is descriptive and not judgmental. We don't know, at the end of this, whether he enjoyed his life or not, but we have an excellent description of what his life was like, and now can only be described etched in stone in the very place he roamed. I love it!
Hello David: your poem really captured the spirit of the true flaneur, who is more than just an idle, aimless urban wanderer. The flaneur is the true dandy and intellectual - meandering quietly and pleasureably down the citiy streets. You've portrayed him excellently, not as the hobo but as the observant intellectual, allowing himself to be drawn in the direction of anything that interests him. He is aristocratic in a way, isolated, melancholic, detached, yet a part of his surroundings. Whoa, David, you've touched on a terrific subject...you've introduced a very unique topic. I'm reminded on a line I once read..."the greatest adventures aren't planned. They arrive unexpected!" Thanks for a great poem. (P.S. - the picture looks like guys playing Bocci Ball! Now there's a golden opportunity for the flaneur to sit around and watch!)
Some have their reasons and they know no other way of life. For them it's just survival at the best, but they are OK with that life. no ambition at all or their will has been lost to tragedy. Good write my old friend! Anthony
I've changed the title name from "This Flaneur Hobo" to "The Flaneur". I didn't want to use the same title as the poem written be James, but the title "This Flaneur Hobo" sent the wrong message. The term "Flaneur" also means "City Walker", who could be one of wealth, but a wanderer, who idley strolls through urban landscape and feels at one with the city.
You have really captured the free-wheeling spirit of the the 'Hobo'.
However, the spirit seldom lives up to the reality.
Seeing Tramps, (as they are called here in the UK), huddling in underpasses, with cardboard to keep out the cold, and invariably filthy dirty. Holding out a hand for coin, is more the truth.
Flaneur is a new word for me, as it is to Bobs spell check,,,,,lol. It's certainly one for my memory bank,,lol.
Thank you, Brian.
Welcome !
