Not having reaped you, oh my days,my nights, have I let the slow flamesof your lovely produce fall into ashes?My nights, my days, you have borne so much!All your branches have retained the gestureof that long labor you are rising from:my days, my nights. Oh my rustic friends!I look for what was so good for…
and sometimes I will lay my right ear inthe palm of my right hand.And as I speak my voice seems strange as ifit were alien to me,for I’m not certain whose voice is crying:mine or someone else’s.I cry for a pittance to sustain me.The poets cry for more.In the end I conceal my entire faceand…
with the audience around her, quickened, hot,her dance begins to flicker in the dark room.And all at once it is completely fire.One upward glance and she ignites her hairand, whirling faster and faster, fans her dressinto passionate flames, till it becomes a furnacefrom which, like startled rattlesnakes, the longnaked arms uncoil, aroused and clicking.And then:…
And without any feet can go to you;And tongueless, I can conjure you at will.Break off my arms, I shall take hold of youAnd grasp you with my heart as with a hand;Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;And if you set this brain of mine afire,Then on my blood-stream I yet will…
of the bird you wound remains,and perhaps flowers survivecaresses in us, in their ground.It isn’t the gesture that lasts,but it dresses you again in goldarmor –from breast to knees–and the battle was so purean Angel wears it after you.Translated by A. Poulin
for you are the roadeven while being immobile.You see, I’m scared no onehere will look for me again;I couldn’t make use ofwhatever was given,so they abandoned me.At first the solitudecharmed me like a prelude,but so much music wounded me.Translated by A. Poulin
from flat places, rolling and remote, it climbsto heaven, which is its old abode.And only when leaving heaven drops upon the city.It rains down on us in those twitteringhours when the streets turn their faces to the dawn,and when two bodies who have found nothing,dissapointed and depressed, roll over;and when two people who despise eachotherhave…
My room and this distance,awake upon the darkening land,are one. I am a stringstretched across deepsurging resonance.Things are violin bodiesfull of murmuring darkness,where women’s weeping dreams,where the rancor of whole generationsstirs in its sleep . . .I should releasemy silver vibrations: theneverything below me will live,and whatever strays into thingswill seek the lightthat falls without…
But for us, you are the full, the numberless flower,the inexhaustible countenance.In your wealth you seem to be wearing gown upon gownupon a body of nothing but light;yet each seperate petal is at the same time the negationof all clothing and the refusal of it.Your fragrance has been calling its sweetest namesin our direction, for…
You who are the heaviest counterweightto my astounding contemplation.Night, that trembles as reflected in my eyes,but in itself strong;inexhaustible creation, dominant,enduring beyond the earth’s endurance;Night, full of newly created stars that leavetrails of fire streaming from their seamsas they soar in inaudible adventurethrough interstellar space:how, overshadowed by your all-embracing vastness,I appear minute!—Yet, being one with…
