II Feeling suitably pale and gaunt An earnest representative of an elusive artistic group Stumbles into a cafĂŠ on la rive gauche (Nobody looks up) Great ideas swim in rarefied air The cloaked poet adopts a pose Soon vivaciously sipping his liqueur Looking down a Roman nose.
He being One of the afternoon intellectuals Finds room for himself Clutches passionately at his chest Licks the nib of a pen And writes in the vernacular Words amounting to a burgeoning career And brandishing a cigar Leans back Laughs demonstratively at the owner of the Strange street bazaar. III In one corner, bookshop owners Drink tea and toast to Ulysses. These best years of the expatriatesArrondisements are awash with Americans. Under the canopy, The wicker chairs all observe the road Someone here stops the traffic (Ties her laces) Looks back along the street At all the indifferent faces.
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