For the dverse prompt
I had walked this street so often
yet never noticed the façade,
the way it shunned the pavement like a criminal,
windows dingy, half-shuttered,
paintwork the yellowing shade of cheap paperbacks,
the name, camouflaged by time and rain
barely distinguishable and incongruous—
Hôtel de la Gare.
We ended up on this street
one night of pivotal tension
that started beneath the stars
and ended
behind the dingy half-shuttered windows
of a hotel far from any station.
No trains woke us, no cock crowing,
the curtain veiled the half-shuttered sun,
and the silence was like suffocation.
Years afterwards I still walk that street,
and the criminal shiftiness of the façade
glares at me, hands in pockets
and a fag in the corner of its mouth.
Just keep moving.
I keep moving,
wondering why those dingy half-shuttered windows
refuse to sink back into unseen shadows,
why that incongruous name draws my eye,
why we ever thought there could be something for us
in a place that should never have been.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
To notice that façade on two different occasions certainly captures the nature of life and our ongoing travails. There are places that have come to define some pivotal moments of our lives — I really like how you have pictured the scene in this light. The street has recorded it all, as you have done in this verse.
This is so good: “and the criminal shiftiness of the façade/glares at me, hands in pockets/and a fag in the corner of its mouth”.
This was a hard one to write, but with distance, I can see the interesting aspects of it, the way places disappear when they are unimportant, and thrust themselves in your face when they have acquired a sort of notoriety.
This poem has bucketloads of atmosphere, Jane, and you’ve conveyed the familiarity of the street while describing the otherness of the façade in ‘the way it shunned the pavement like a criminal’. I’ve seen quite a few dingy hotels in various places, but I think the French give the Brits a run for their money when it comes to the shabbiest. I love the description of the paintwork ‘the yellowing shade of cheap paperbacks’! That’s a powerful phrase: ‘the silence was like suffocation’.
Thanks Kim. Maybe there are just fewer hotels in England, but they are or were everywhere in France, even in the smallest villages. You’re right about the scruffy disreputable look of them.
I love such old hotels. They are full of history, even a lot of sadness. Hopefully never will see something like L’Auberge Rouge. 😉 Michael
I think they pulled that one down 🙂
Lets hope, Jane! 😉
🙂
Amazing Jane. There is something about old hotels with all those memories both good and bad of the people who stayed there.
Thanks Linda. Hotels would be good subjects for the limbo theme.
Indeed they would.
I absolutely love the mysterious nature and intrigue of the Hôtel de la Gare. Fabulous writing Jane. How do you feel about reblogs….I would like to share this.
Thanks Holly! I’d be more than pleased if you wanted to reblog 🙂
Thank you Jane! 🙂
I’m honoured 🙂
The honor is mine…this is superb writing Jane.
It was a hard one to write about. Maybe that’s what comes over.
I love this. Your writing is always spellbinding!
I’m glad you like it 🙂
Very much to say the least! 😊
🙂
An excellent piece, one of your best. Loved the textures, the darkness, the despair; so exotic and mysterious, as well as emotionally charged.
Thanks Glenn. Low points often have more emotional impact than high points.
This is incredibly riveting with its tone, pacing and atmospheric quality, Jane! ❤️
Thank you, Sanaa 🙂
the criminal shiftiness of the façade
glares at me, hands in pockets
and a fag in the corner of its mouth.
Just keep moving.
That’s a poem in its own right. Such a great image, and somehow so evocative of France, those provincial towns.
Not just the provincial towns either. When I moved to Paris in the 1980s a lot of it was still a hang over from between the wars.
This is superb Jane! You were at a moment of peak creativity when you wrote this. It is one of this moments that a poet craves, celebrates in the happening, and then loses in the afterglow until that spirit rises again – while hoping that it will. What a splendid moment for you!
I’m glad the poem got to you, Rob. I do a lot of wandering and observing (about all I ever get done these days) but this thought popped into my head and wouldn’t go. Maybe personal poems are the most honest and so have the most impact.
Reblogged this on House of Heart and commented:
superb!
Thank you, Holly 🙂
It’s my pleasure to share this jewel. 😊
🙂
The wistfulness of time and place and how they intersect with memory–the feeling is very strong here. (K)
Sometimes a place encapsulates a feeling or a moment and it never shakes it off.
Thanks to Holly for reblogging this beautiful poem. wonderful, Jane.
Thanks Dale, and yes, thank you Holly too 🙂
I’m just getting to this, but wow, Jane, so many wonderful lines in this one. You portray this hotel like a living creature. So evocative. This is really wonderful.
(I think you mentioned this situation to me once. )
Some memories get right beneath the skin. This is one.
Yes. I feel that.
🙂
Coming around a bit late… but this was so much worth it. I love the way you fill the meaning of that facade with a past. I feel an affair that should remain forgotten, and of course the hotel still remembers
Hotels are funny places. Now I think about it, a hotel is a sort of limbo.
An atmospheric write that reminds me of a hotel I stayed at my first night in Paris. I especially love this line:
“paintwork the yellowing shade of cheap paperbacks”
I wonder if was the same one? Rue de la Montagne Sainte-Geneviève?
I fear I can’t remember. It was the spring of 1992, after all. 😆
I was there then. Not in that hotel though…
😆
Well done. An atmosphere “à la Simenon”. There were many “Hotels de la gare” before. Even in the remotest village with a station. I guess many have closed as the stations close.
Joli travail. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you. It’s a part of France that has disappeared, along with the commis voyageur without a car. Simenon’s France has all but gone. The Hôtel de la Gare in the small town where I live is still there, and it doesn’t serve alcohol in the restaurant…
My fav of yours so far, Jane – and that’s saying something! 🙂
These lines esp reminded me of my wife and I’s stay in Paris a bit back —
We ended up on this street
one night of pivotal tension
that started beneath the stars
and ended
behind the dingy half-shuttered windows
of a hotel far from any station.
*
All in all, your poem permeates with the intrigue of Paris every person there must feel! 🙂
Thank you! I’m glad you like this one. It’s a personal memory from when Paris was still getting into my blood. In the 1980s there was still a lot of Simenon’s Paris left, lots of seedy hotels and seedy nightlife.
Always! 🙂
🙂
Reblogged this on © Felipe Adan Lerma – All Rights Reserved – Blogging at WordPress Since 2011 🙂 and commented:
I’ve done few reblogs for awhile now and this is one I’m very pleased to share 🙂 The, for me, inescapable intrigue of being in Paris! Via Jane Dougherty — I’ll try to add one of my Paris pics that might fit 🙂
Thank you!
Very much my pleasure, Jane 🙂
🙂