Menier, – O Chirsts! – Leperdriel!
Kinck, Jacob, Bonbonnel!
Veuillot, Tropmann, Augier!
Gill, Mendes, Manuel, Guido Gonin! –
Basket of the Graces! L’Herisse!
Unctuous waxes!
Old loaves, spirits!
Blind men! –
but then who knows? –
Beadles, Enghien. –
In one’s own home!
Let’s be Christian!
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For Helen, in the virgin shadows and the
ornamental saps conspired.Summer’s ardour was confidedto silent birds and due indolenceto a priceless mourning boatthrough gulfs of dead lovesand fallen perfumes.-After the moment of the woods women’s songto the rumble of the torrent in the ruin of the wood,of the tinkle of the cowbells to the echo of the vales,and the cries of the steppes.–…
To the right the summer dawn
and the noises in this corner of the park,and the left-hand bankshold in their violet shadowsthe thousand swift ruts of the wet road.Wonderland procession! Yes, truly: floats coveredwith animals of gilded wood, poles and bright bunting,to the furious gallop of twenty dappled circus horses,and children and men on their most fantastic beasts;–twenty rotund vehicles, decorated…
A tearful tincture washes
Beneath the dribbling bushesYour raincoats lie;Pale white in private moonlight,Like round-eyed sores,Flap your scabby kneecaps apart,My ugly whores!We loved each other in those days,Ugly blue whore!We ate boiled eggsAnd weed.One night you made me a poet,Ugly blond whore.Get between my legs,I’ll whip you.I puked up your greasy hair,Ugly black whore;You tried to unstringMy guitar.Blah! Some…
Those who say Gord Struth; those who say Swelp Me –
are nothing, nothing at all, compared with the warriors of Excisewho slash the blue frontiers with their great axe-blows.Pipes in their teeth, blades in their hands, deep, unruffled,when darkness noses at the woods like a cow’s muzzle, off they go,leading their dogs, to hold their nocturnal and terrible revels!They report the bacchantes to the laws…
O that warm February morning!
to stir up our absurd paupers’ memories,our young distress.Henrika had on a brownand white checked cotton skirtwhich must have been worn in the last century,a bonnet with ribbons and a silk scarf.It was much sadder than any mourning.We were taking a stroll in the suburbs.The weather was overcastand that wind from the southexcited all the…
I.
nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;his domain, insolent azure and verdure,runs over beaches called by the shipless waves,names ferociously Greek, Slav, Celt.At the border of the forest– dream flowers tinkle, flash, and flare,–the girl with orange lips, kneescrossed in the clear flood that gushes from the fields,nakedness shaded, traversed, dressed by rainbow, flora, sea.Ladies who…