A decade ago I underwent some emergency surgery in a Bay Area hospital. Before going under, I recited some of Apollinaire's "Le Pont Mirabeau" (I was living in Paris at the time -- what I was doing in SF is a story to do with the heart and its conundrums). Just before everything went black, the surgeon leaned over me and recited some of it back to me. When I woke up, said surgeon, Dr. Specter (really his name), confessed to a love of Apollinaire and of that poem in particular. Very strange. He gave me his card and said to keep in touch, actually meaning it. I went back to Paris and, alas, didn't. On Thursday, I will be reciting the poem for the movie I'm in. It won't be apparent, when the film comes out, that I will be thinking of Dr. Specter as I recite, but that is absolutely what I will be doing. Here is the poem:

Le Pont Mirabeau

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure