Oscar Wilde in the Hotel d'Alsace

[BobBradshaw]

v2:
Oscar Wilde in the Hotel d'Alsace


As Oscar wandered the streets
of Paris, he sought only
company to converse with,

to talk about anything
but memories of prison
where at night a blanket

rough as whiskers
had been his only comfort.
Yet it wasn't regrets

that had kept him awake.
It was the hard planks.
More hurtful now

were old, dear friends
who would cross the street
to avoid him.

Had he survived hell
for a room in the Hotel d'Alsace?
Its loneliness was as debilitating

as prison’s silence,
where he hadn’t been allowed to speak,
even in the yard.

Without Bosie,
confronting the world these days
left him feeling empty.

He was an ink well gone dry.
He would rather dissolve
into drink.

Where was his future
to be found, in the horrid
wallpaper of room 16?

Carriages rattled by
on their way to the theatre.
But his dingy room

with its one bottle of wine
on a small, wobbly table
offered no lobby for patrons,

and Oscar no longer had the fire
in him for new dramas,
his once formidable heart
weak as ash.


v1:
Oscar Wilde in the Hotel d'Alsace


As Oscar wandered the streets
of Paris, he sought only
company to converse with,

to talk about anything
but memories of prison
where at night a blanket

rough as whiskers
had been his only comfort.
Yet it wasn't regrets

that had kept him awake.
It was the hard planks.
More hurtful now

were old, dear friends
who would cross the street
to avoid him.

Had he survived hell
for a room in the Hotel d'Alsace?
Its loneliness was as debilitating

as prison’s silence,
where he hadn’t been allowed to speak,
even in the yard.

Without Bosie,
confronting the world these days
left him feeling empty.

He was an ink well gone dry.
He would rather disappear
into drink.

Where was his future
to be found, in room 16’s
horrid wallpaper?

Carriages rattled by
on their way to the theatre.
But his dingy room

with its one bottle of wine
on a small, wobbly table
offered no lobby for patrons,

and Oscar no longer had the fire
in him for new dramas,
his once formidable heart
weak as ash.

[Kenneth2816]

with its one bottle of wine
on a small, wobbly table
offered no lobby for patrons,

Strongest stanza for me. Captures his isolation. Solid poem in a genre you do so well

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks, Ken. It's great to see you commenting. I'm looking forward to your poems!

[Kenneth2816]

Bob, I confess I had to read Wikipedia after this....

I've not written anything in a couple of months

[BobBradshaw]

Time to start. You are one of the most talented poets I know...

[Kenneth2816]

You need to get out more then
.

[Billy]

Yes, this is your domain. I've never read another poet her does this so well. I like the way the last stanza pull me in more intimately. It's all good.

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks, Billy

[Michael (MV)]

Hi Bob,

We rendez-vous with the subject at poem's start;
therefore consider streaming title to:

"In the Hotel d'Alsace"

or (upon hearing echoes of The Eagles)

"Welcome to the Hotel d'Alsace"


Workshop look at these 2 stanzas

"He was an ink well gone dry.
He would rather disappear
into drink.

Where was his future
to be found, in room 16’s
horrid wallpaper?"

as

He was an ink well gone dry.
He would rather dissolve (or evaporate)
into drink.

Where was his future
to be found, in the horrid
wallpaper of room 16?


Afterall, Wilde was like a literary rock star in a Victorian society -

Welcome to the room, Oscar Wilde



Michael (MV)

[BobBradshaw]

Thx, Michael, for the ideas. I’ll think about them. Best, Bob

[RamanathanSiva]

Bob

Learned much from Michael's workshop.


Siva

[BobBradshaw]

Thanks, Michael. I have taken up your suggestions.