Tag Archives: Paris

Baudelaire Walks Pandemic Paris

Posted on November 28, 2021 by jillbpearlman

Walking through Paris in the (imagined) aftermath of a pandemic, I had the uncanny feelings of déjà vu, that things had disappeared and been replaced, leaving behind a residue of scented melancholy.  The gap between then and now ignited a … Continue reading →

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Passover, Notre-Dame and the Book Thing

Posted on April 19, 2019 by jillbpearlman

The idea that Notre-Dame might be reduced to a hole in the ground, a collection of rubble terrified me.  When I lived in Paris, or before that, or after, the Cathedral lodged itself deeply in my being. A friend mentioned … Continue reading →

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The Intimate Nature of Radical Times

Posted on December 31, 2018 by jillbpearlman

Oh, the curse from the Chinese: “May he live in interesting times.” We’re living those interesting, precarious times: we are in the middle of structures, nations, assumptions breaking apart. London is calling, Paris, Brazil, US falling.  We’re deep inside that … Continue reading →

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To France: The Gift of Not Knowing

Posted on December 25, 2018 by jillbpearlman

  For Noël, the French received a gift of unknowingness. It’s a lucky gift!  Les gilets jaunes have doled out confusion to their compatriots who are singularly sure of themselves, gifted in the pur et dur, the absolute.  Their clipped … Continue reading →

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Lèche-Vitrine

Posted on August 21, 2018 by jillbpearlman

“Lèche-vitrine,” in French, literally means to lick windows, and seeing the smart and composed surfaces in Paris, who wouldn’t want to do just that? The phrase refers to window shopping, and it cleverly underlines the magnetism of the object and … Continue reading →

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Paris à Go-Go

Posted on March 16, 2018 by jillbpearlman

Oh, the charms of having grown children! The Nor’Easter knew I couldn’t miss my visit to Planet Rachel! It let me slip out under the wire and get that plane to Paris. After a spell of ersatz sleep (as much … Continue reading →

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Parisian Late-Capitalist Blues

Posted on August 5, 2017 by jillbpearlman

What an irony it would be if Paris becomes yet another generic European city where slick kids move from trendy cafe to darling bar to hip-chic restaurant. The French have always been such maniacs about preserving their rich culture and … Continue reading →

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January 20, 2017

Posted on January 27, 2017 by jillbpearlman

January 20 Something is happening back in Washington, though we are 40,000 feet above the Mediterranean. We are rising high, the scalloped edge of the Holy Land a mere hem below, through unraveling skeins of clouds, the hush unearthly. It … Continue reading →

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My Own Equators

Posted on July 31, 2016 by jillbpearlman

I like to travel south.  The further south in Europe I go, the more comfortable I feel.  I’m often following a pull, the  force of personal migration.  The compass point opens up more and more exhilaration.  It’s as if I’m … Continue reading →

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Paris tends the Flowers of Evil

Posted on July 24, 2016 by jillbpearlman

  If Paris is still a poem, it’s a 19th century poem.  It’s a poem of dualities, and that’s good and bad.   In spite of the  century and a half that has passed, Baudelaire’s masterpiece, Les Fleurs du Mal, … Continue reading →

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