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The adventure continues, François Busnel crossing the United States through the great authors. His journey begins in the Mojave Desert in Apache territory and continues along the Grand Canyon, a sacred place for the Indians. In contrast to these immense landscapes where man does little adventure, Francois Busnel arrives in Las Vegas. This city, capital of gambling and partying, was built in the desert like a mirage in the middle of nowhere. His steps led him to San Francisco, the Mecca of the cons-American culture. During his trip, he met the authors Ann Rice, Jim Fergus, Thomas Sanchez, and Lawrence Ferlinghetti.
The Changing Light
The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o'clock
s weeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted
But the wind comes up at four o'clock
s weeping the hills
And then the veil of light of early evening
And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean
Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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1 comment:
Ferlinghetti's best poem ever.
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