For the Love of Lady Cinema

I long to give my life to you

To free my liquid existence upon your celluloid —

But dear, my love, I am compromised —

How can I say that my body aches for you?

I’m all mind and want you to be mine

I want to mine your archetypes —

I want to build you up like a sculpture

My hand must shape your climax and I would

Blind all the world to see you in a brilliant close up —

— But I would cut, cut, cut right through you though

if you disappointed me

— But dear my love, in this life we can edit

This life is poorly scripted, rife with lots of bad acting —

I’ve played my part night after night when I steal away

To Godard and Chabrol; to Fellini and Herzog —

To Lanthimos and Hitchcock and Lee and Schnabel

Who leaves me here weeping, in a hovel of my own

Unrealized impotent, literary desires —

See! I am surrounded by the books of gurus!

They crowd me with their voices — and they are fools!

I’ve more stories in me than Satan has sinners

I once said, wild-eyed wandering Los Angeles

(What a stupid thing to say!)

I live for you another day — a little festival

Could resurrect me after a long, cold season —

We were so beautiful together when you held

Me to sleep in Cannes — God knows how many

Dedicated asses sat on my seat in the Salle Lumiere!

(I dare to say I fell asleep during Shoplifters)

— I long for knowledge and an army behind me

To work steadily for you, Lady Cinema

My hand wishes to imprison you

In an immortal sculpture of light and time —

Yes — and direct you to be mine!

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Raconteur and essayist with a funny bone. Educator by profession.

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Allen Bauman

Allen Bauman

Raconteur and essayist with a funny bone. Educator by profession.