[Petra Norr]

This rides on Villon's refrain, "Where are the snows of yesteryear". Villon's poem is an easy and enjoyable read (in English, that is). I think I woke up dumb today because I'm having problems here & there grasping some Erato poems, including this one; it's not an easy read for me. It's very skillfully done, though. The details add so much to it, and I don't have to visualize exactly how the clothes look (the brand names) in order for them to work.

What I'm wondering about, overall, is: is there progression here? Am I supposed to think of the guy as going from rich to poor? That would make sense, but I'm not sure it's here in the poem. Or should I assume that the "from riches to rags" story is here simply because he once had 40 suits and is now asking for a loan at the bank, or is having problems with a loan he took -- implying that he's in economical trouble? But in that case, how can he still wear Turnbull ties and those expensive-sounding boots?
On a side note, the part that starts with the words "this banker", and then goes on to Kay, confused me; naturally I thought "this banker" referred to the narrator (the narrator speaking of himself) so it threw me when I realized Kay was the banker (I think). And I think I need to think more about this poem before I say more. I'll probably be back.
* * * *
Okay, I'll wrap things up for my part, now. I know what "Casual Friday" is: at least I think it means you can wear what you want on the job on one day out of the work-week -- Friday. So, if this isn't a man who's gone from riches to rags, then it simply means he wishes he could wear suits every day of the week. But then why doesn't he do so -- nobody's stopping him, and as far as I know suits have not gone out of fashion.
My conclusion is, this poem is too sophisticated for me; it resides in a completely different world from my own, one which I only glimpse when turning the pages of a glossy magaziine. So it's probably why I'm having trouble with the poem. It's no doubt a delightful light poem for some, but a different matter for backwoods babes like me who wake up dumb.

[Tim Murphy]

Ou sont les neiges d'hiver. As Petra noted, Villon. This is wickedly good. Ineffably sad, with its bespoken yet unspoken. I've never had more than two pinstripe suits, favoring instead Jack Nicklaus blazers. If I guess this author aright, he once said to me "It was raining, and you wore green." To which I could only reply, "We'll always have Paris." I suspect he could make a ballade out of that. Wonderful poem, this.

[John Whitworth]

Petra, the reference to Antony makes me think the guy once ruled the world and now he has dwindled ... to a poet perhaps. Poets don't have forty suits. Some poets (alackaday!) don't have any suits at all.