Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

SOME AMERICANS IN PARIS, by             Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography

"Some Americans in Paris" by Donald Hall is a satirical portrayal of American expatriates in Paris, shedding light on the pretensions and affectations of artists and intellectuals who seek inspiration in the famed city. Through a series of character sketches, Hall humorously critiques the self-indulgence and superficiality of these expatriates, contrasting them with the "tourist-countrymen" they disdain.

The poem begins by establishing the setting: "Here, in the right café, convened by fate, / These true expatriates accumulate." This opening sets the stage for the parade of characters who frequent the Parisian cafés, supposedly seeking artistic and intellectual fulfillment. However, their true motives and accomplishments are quickly called into question.

Hall introduces various expatriates with sharp, witty descriptions. For example, "Spanish Moss, the southern novelist," whose "accent is as boneless as his wrist" and who hasn't experienced the South firsthand in years but still capitalizes on its imagery in his work. His portrayal of Moss’s protagonist—a "mongoloid / Mulatto dwarf, of arms and legs devoid"—is both absurd and indicative of Moss's desperate attempts to appear avant-garde.

Next, we meet "bearded Ezra Ounce," humorously described as "a fraction of a Pound," referencing the famous poet Ezra Pound. Ounce's pursuit of poetry in Paris has yielded little more than a superficial column, "as adjectival as a Kodachrome," emphasizing his lack of substantive output despite his grandiose aspirations.

Hall then shifts to "Junior Miss," a young woman whose attempts at appearing bohemian and sophisticated are transparent. Her public displays of affection with Ezra Ounce are rumored to be a façade, highlighting the performative nature of their relationship and their pretensions.

"Elliott Sandalwood" is depicted as the self-appointed leader of the "New Expatriates," whose disdainful attitude and affectations, such as keeping drawers of scented woods and silks, further underscore the group's superficiality. Beside him sits "withered Eld," a relic from the era of famous American writers in Paris who, despite his proximity to greatness, never managed to produce significant work himself.

The poem also critiques "the teacher Bald," who is noted for his industriousness but lacks originality, continuously "pillaging" the styles of famous authors to stay relevant. His lack of genuine passion is evident in his methodical approach to writing, driven more by trends than by authentic inspiration.

Hall's depiction of these characters culminates in a broader commentary on the expatriate community's futile efforts: "So sat the clever group. So sags each day, / And only closing time takes them away." Their days are marked by empty conversations and unfulfilled ambitions, in stark contrast to the genuine artistic breakthroughs they idolize.

The poem's final stanzas draw a sharp distinction between the expatriates and the "crude forefathers" they scorn. These forefathers, oblivious to the disdain of the self-styled intellectuals, represent a more grounded and perhaps authentic engagement with Paris. The closing metaphor, "An ass whose two long heads are set apart / Will not suspect it functions with one heart," suggests that despite their pretensions and divisions, the expatriates and tourists are part of the same fundamentally human experience, driven by a common desire for connection and meaning.

"Some Americans in Paris" is a masterful satire that uses vivid character sketches and sharp wit to critique the superficiality and pretensions of the expatriate community in Paris. Through his incisive observations, Donald Hall invites readers to reflect on the true nature of artistic pursuit and the often-overlooked sincerity beneath the surface of human endeavors.


Copyright (c) 2025 PoetryExplorer





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...



Home: PoetryExplorer.net