Once more Paris has been the scene of terroristic attacks, and this time far worse than before. My intent is to offer a few personal thoughts, speak briefly to a fee reactions, and then to repost a poem written after the Charlie Hebdo attacks.
Genetically I am as Gallic as German, since my maternal grandmother was a Walloon. While my mother was proud of her heritage, I sensed she resonated a bit more towards the French=speaking side. Among other certifications she held a a teacher, she had one in French.
Although I chose to take German, not French after two years of Latin, in high school so I could read Hermann Hesse in the original, I appreciated French. That language was mandatory for my Master's language in graduate school. I would begin in French, then slip into German, much to an instructor's dismay.
My only visit to Paris left me with good memories; my French improved a bit and it was a great time. However, as impressive as Paris was, I never felt drawn to it as I do Berlin. That is how I am wired, but I have many friends who love Paris and I understand. For me, the smaller cities in France were wonderful, and I longed to linger in Chartres or Avignon.
Through my brother I found a link that we maybe had an ancestor from our father's side of the family who was in Napoleon's army. It turns out I was not the first Lieutenant Colonel in the family!
4e Regiment de Dragons
Created in 1667, in 1684 they were named Chartres-Cavalerie. In 1724, they become Clermont and 1771 La Marche. Their name changed once again in 1776 to the Conti-Dragons, finally becoming the 4e Regiment de Dragons in 1791
Colonels and Chef-de-Brigade
1791: Migot (Laurent) - Colonel1792: Maillard de Landre (Innocent-Marie-Louis) - Colonel
1792: De la Coste-Duvivier (Jean-Laurent-Justin) - Colonel
1794: Turfa (Pierre-Fortune) - Chef-de-Brigade
http://www.napoleon-series.org/military/organization/c_dragoons1.html
Later I found out there were Turfas in Alsace-Lorraine earlier, most with a military connection. My working hypothesis is that they were Hungarians who wanted freedom and left the Austrian Empire. There are not many with that surname, and it is far better than finding out they were horse thieves!
The knee-jerk reactions from right and left, and from other groups, concern me. First, allow Paris and all of France to mourn. Then as those in power decide what to do, let us realize that there are no perfect options. Prior to World War II, the democracies and the Soviet Union realized that they had a common enemy, but still united. That is a long, convoluted tale, but at least Fascism was defeated.
Some assert that the recent Beirut bombings have been ignored in the mas media. Sadly, that city and region have been combat zones for decades. In my opnion there is enough tragedy and horror to go around. Now is the time to act decisively.
I re-post my poem about Paris:
Thoughts
about Paris
L’Auberge
de Jeunesse à Suresnes (1)
Lies to the west of central Paris
Near a suburban train line
Separating streets of
One or two-storied buildings.
Rain poured down each day
As we gathered from five continents
Drawn to the wonder and grandeur
Of the City of Lights as so many
Generations, lost and otherwise,
To the grey city,
Cement-towered and massive
Punctuated by green parks,
Sliced in two by the Seine.
In and around the hostel
A Babel of tongues and accents-
A California coed on summer fling
With Turkish manager
(I too then was Californian)
A sodden South African enthralled
By my unfamiliar accent,
The Pair of Scandinavian girls,
This time Norwegian with
Flags on their backpacks,
A hitch-hiking Brit en route to Riviera.
Down the street at an Algerian bar
The Brit and I offer colorful franc notes
For deux bieres
á pression. (2)
Behind us a brightly-lit juke box
Topped by a television screen
Blaring Arabic songs and videos
Of Coptic crooner amid pyramids
And belly dancers in a harem
(Wish we had that at home I think)
This proto-MTV, this Ur-Video.
(Quite exceptional back in 1976!)
I remember the people and places;
A mass of humanity passing the Mona Lisa,
WWI poilu
(3) pumping my hand in Versailles
Exclaiming Vous
etês American! (4)
as medals dance on his lapel,
Drinking morning tea from a large bowl-like cup,
Slaking thirst with limonades (5) in the Luxembourg,
Searching for Sartre in Left Bank haunts.
Recently surfing through the news
In three languages, listening to the BBC
Both ways on long commute,
Horrified by havoc, saddened by scenes
I never could imagine, wondering
What it is like now
In that Algerian bar down the street from
L’Auberge
de Jeunesse à Suresnes.
(1) Youth
Hostel at Suresnes, northwest suburb of Paris
(2) Two
draft beers
(3) French
soldier from World War I and UU
(4) You
are an American!
(5) Not
like the sweet yellow US soft beverage. This is uncolored seltzer water with a
lemon taste.
Arthur Turfa,
© 2015
