on a Tunisian souk

outerNotes

There are people who claim value in high art: ballet, opera, the finest works of most-lauded authors.

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I agree, I do agree, that’s all important.

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But if you ask me about poetry in motion, about where to find the art of life manifested,

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I’ll point you towards the markets, the wilds of a city, like the souk of downtown Tunis.

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You only know a place once you’ve learned its rugged streets, its funky corners,

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the beauty it hides in small bites and in plain sight.

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You know a place once you’ve engaged its most forthright ambassadors, its most plenipotentiary negotiators: market vendors.

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You know a place when you’ve breathed it in, whatever olfactory sensations that affords you!

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You come to know a place through the rhythm of footsteps on its pavement,

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when the many aspects of culture, climate and locale culminate to produce a throbbing, artful chaos.

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Greetings knock about as people…

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