I, as smaller measure, and as the slimmest of all,
humbly hollow myself so that just a few tears can fill me.
Wine becomes richer, oil becomes clear, in its vessel.
What happens with tears?-They made me blind in my
glass,
made me heavy and made my curve iridescent,
made me brittle, and left me empty at last.
Translated by Stephen Mitchell
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The future: time’s excuse
a project, too large a morselfor the heart’s mouth.Future, who won’t wait for you?Everyone is going there.It suffices you to deepenthe absence that we are.Translated by A. Poulin
Simply she stands at the cathedral’s
with the apple in the apple-pose,guiltless-guilty once and for allof the growing she gave birth tosince form the circle of eternitiesloving she went forth, top struggle throughher way throughout the earth like a young year.Ah, gladly yet a little in that landWould she have lingered, heeding the harmonyAnd understanding of the animals.But since she found…
He felt the entrance’s green darkness
that he was still accepting and arranging;when at the opposite transparent end, far off,through green sunlight, as through green window panes,whitely a solitary shapeflared up, long remaining distantand then finally, the downdriving lightboiling over it at every step,bearing on itself a bright pulsation,which in the blond ran shyly to the back.But suddenly the shade was…
They are assembled, astonished and disturbed
and now leaves those to whom he most belonged,leaving and passing by them like a stranger.The loneliness of old comes over himwhich helped mature him for his deepest acts;now will he once again walk through the olive grove,and those who love him still will flee before his sight.To this last supper he has summoned them,and…
My whole life is mine, but whoever says so
The ripple of water, the shade of the skyare mine; it is still the same, my life.No desire opens me: I am full,I never close myself with refusal-in the rythm of my daily soulI do not desire-I am moved;by being moved I exert my empire,making the dreams of night real:into my body at the bottom…
O trees of life, oh, what when winter comes?
in unison migrating. And overtaken,overdue, we thrust ourselves into the windand fall to earth into indifferent ponds.Blossoming and withering we comprehend as one.And somewhere lions roam, quite unaware,in their magnificence, of any weaknesss.But we, while wholly concentrating on one thing,already feel the pressure of another.Hatred is our first response. And lovers,are they not forever invading…