Suzanne Allen lives in her native Southern California—Land of Perpetual Sun—but holds on tight to grey Paris, mostly by co-editing The Bastille and spending WAY too much time on Facebook. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee with poems published and anthologized in five countries and on line in Cider Press Review, Hobo Camp Review and Crack the Spine.
She also creates poetry videos for Vlogosophy on YouTube, and her first chapbook, Verisimilitude, was published in 2011 by Corrupt Press.
“This is the first poem I ever wrote in Paris. I workshopped it at The Other Writers Group with David Barnes in February, 2005. The following week, an Australian girl told me she had performed it… at one of the earliest ‘SpokenWord’ nights ever, before it was called SpokenWord. Before I knew I would keep coming back. She admitted it a bit sheepishly since she hadn’t asked my permission beforehand, said she hoped I didn’t mind. It has since been published in Pearl Magazine.”
Love and Zero, Dr. Martin and the Egg
…the word ‘love’ is itself
in need of re-vision.
Five onion paper pages of definitions
in the OED for love:
“6. noun: the animal instinct between the sexes,
and its gratification.” Still,
nowhere in those five, three-columned pages
does it say that love is equal to zero
A Hungarian French professor, Dr. Martin
who made me cry
when I couldn’t understand the subjunctive,
said that English tennis players,
upon hearing the French ones cry “l’œuf” for zero,
heard “love” and questioned not its use.
But l’œuf is French for egg,
and an egg
is precisely the shape of a zero.
…no wonder this once
makes me hungry.