Marie-Sophie Geoffrey

Palo Alto, California

"Place Du Temple" is one of a series of poems condensed as a first book of poetry and lyrics, although Marie-Sophie is no stranger to the literary world of the Parisian underground she acquainted herself with while working in Paris for one of its top advertising agencies and film productions as a copywriter and film editor. In America since 1983 as an Independent Press Correspondent, her poetry book is the reflections of a guarded inner life she would musingly compare to a flickering light never really giving up over the beauty and savageries of the ocean of human experiences. Many thanks are now due to her parents, brother, sister and two sons, as well as for the support she receives from the Fahey family, from friend/author Abida Khanum, friend/author Cosette Thompson and the sponsorship from the French telecommunications company France Telecom, known for its appreciation of the arts around the world.

Men Of Prometheus Such is Their Fate...

Mistrust and hatred
Follow the men who
Clamor for change and
Call for a break with ancient tradition...

Giants, they call for
Effort titanic
People they find
In cowering fear
Tremble and quake...

They lay them in fetters
prey to, exposed to
Weather and vultures...

Brooding and sullen
Blood drips from torture
Hearts feeling the longing of life.

Cry out o heavens, in anguish!
All eyes were raised
All hearts paused hushed

Atheist prayed..
Time falling in cadenced doom, inexorably.

Multitude And The Few, An Ironic Date

Multitudes turn on
Those who show vision
New ways they hold up
Bold in their division
Startling in grade, daring in sweep
New horizons come to pass
Awesome and lofty
Hear the chimes ring soundless out
And float us off
Bobbing adrift...
In drowsy vastness lost
A magic spell among our kind,
While nodding smiles and dreamy kisses linger....
Look at the world!
It has come to change.
Time transforming things of holy bliss,
But knows the secret of a million years
Beyond measure and reason,
O irony of fate,
The few and multitudes laughing at each other
Stumbling but suddenly knows
In tune is the rhythm of all to come
So, faster move on!

Place Du Temple

Sidealk cafes, tables abandoned

Comes along a baglady seizing the water jug as her bond...
A wasted glass, half filled, with lipstick printed on...
Here she goes, stick her own lip on,
She drinks inside a whole world of dreams
She turns away, in a tried escape from all means...

In a slur, in a spit and, yet, another yell ...
She throwns over the city on the higest step as her spell

Place du Temple, somewhere in the heart of Paris,
from there, she travels she says, to Cairo, quite some emphasis!!!

Counting victories while the Eagle turns
Its somber Omen over the City's "Bourgeoisie..."
The old lady goes without much history!!!

All wrapped up in her old newspaper, she lays...
Devising, bemused, at her feet, as she prays
You... passing by... She will open her heart as wide as a postcard
Showing a tombstone of an old century

If you happen to come along in a gentle gesture
Lifting her dirty mane from the daily paper

Below her wrinkled face, over her plucked ears
parades in three columns, in tight rows and cheers
quite a plot of words... like Europe comes to end
In a world where all was to take place
...Yesterday...