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"Madame Martin will throw back her shutters at eight..." With these words, Beverley Bie Brahic opens
The Hotel Eden, a book about seeing the world. She moves through Paris, the French provinces, the American west coast, in the spirit of a flâneur, going about her daily life alert to the variety of human experience: the soup kitchens, the Luxembourg Gardens and the Latin Quarter, the refugees, works of art and areas of damage. The title poem pays a debt to Joseph Cornell, the master of the assemblage, whose "The Hotel Eden" discloses a stuffed parrot and other objects under glass. The eye--the poem--assembles them but cannot tell their intended story. It tells a story all the same. "On the tip of God's tongue, the bird waits to be named." This is a book of revelatory indirections, of unexpected moons, creatures, rituals and histories, of days rich in full disclosures and hints of revelation.
About the author
Beverley Bie Brahic is a poet, translator, and occasional critic. Her collection,
White Sheets, was a finalist for the 2012 Forward Prize;
Hunting the Boar (2016) was a Poetry Book Society Recommendation, and her translation, Guillaume Apollinaire,
The Little Auto, won the 2013 Scott Moncrieff Prize. Other translations include Francis Ponge,
Unfinished Ode to Mud, a 2009 Popescu Prize finalist, and books by Hélène Cixous, Yves Bonnefoy, Jacques Derrida and Julia Kristeva. Brahic was born in Saskatoon, Canada, grew up in Vancouver, and now lives in Paris and the San Francisco Bay Area.
Summary
In the spirit of a flaneur, the poet goes about her daily life in and around Paris, with an eye for the diversity of human experience in a great city.
