À André Breton
The Equality of Sexes
Your eyes are revenues of an arbitrary country
Where no one has ever known what a look is
Neither knew the beauty of eyes, beauty of stones,
The water droplets, the pearls in the cupboards.
Of stones naked and without skeleton, Ô my statue,
The blind sun holds up a mirror to you
And if he seems obey to powers of evening
It’s that your head is closed, ô fallen statue.
By my love and by my wild ruses.
My still desire is your last support
And I bring you without battle, ô my image,
Broken à my weakness and taken from my links.
At the Heart of My Love
A beautiful bird shows me the light
It is in their eyes, in full view.
It sings on a mistletoe ball
At the middle of the sun
*
The eyes of singing animals
And their songs of anger or of vague
Have forbidden me de go out to this bed
I’ll spend my life there.
The dawn in countries without grace
Take the appearance of the forgetting.
And that the woman falls asleep, in the dawn,
The head the first, its fall illuminates it.
Constellations,
You knew the form of her head
Here, everything goes dark :
The landscape is complete, blood of joys,
The masses decrease and flow in my heart
With the sleeping.
And that thus wants to take my heart.
*
I never dreamed to one such a beautiful night.
The women of the garden look for kissing me
Heavenly supports, the motionless trees
Kiss well the shadow which them support.
A woman at the pale heart
Take the night in her clothes.
The love have discovered the night
On her impalpable breasts.
How pleasure take to all?
Rather all erasing.
The man of all the movements,
Of all the sacrifices and of all the conquests
Sleep. He sleeps, he sleeps, he sleeps.
He crosses the tiny, invisible night with his sighs.
It’s neither cold nor hot.
His prisoner escaped — pour sleeping.
He didn’t pass away, he sleeps.
When he fallen asleep
All astonished,
He played with passion,
He watched,
He heard.
His last speak :
“If it was to restart, I meet you without you seek.”
He sleeps, he sleeps, he sleeps.
The dawn has had beautiful rinsing of the head.
He sleeps.
To Get Caught in the Trap
It’s a restaurant like the others. Should we believe that I don’t look like to person? A big woman, on the side of me, beats eggs with her fingers. A traveller lays his clothes on a table and holds me up. It’s tormented, I don’t know nothing mystery, I don’t know same the meaning of words : mystery, I’ve never search yet, nothing find, he’s wrong to insist.
The thunderstorm that, at times, comes out of the mist turns my eyes and shoulders. The space has then the doors and the windows. The traveller declares to me that I’m not more the same. More the same! I pick up the debris of all the wonders. It’s the big woman which said to me that they are the debris of wonders, these debris. I throw them to the rapid brooks and planes of birds. The sea, the calm sea is among them like the sky in the light. The colours too, then they talk to me of colours, I don’t look more. Speak to me of the forms, I have grand want to concern.
Big woman, talk to me of the forms, or I fall asleep and I lead the high life, the hands take in the head and the head in the mouth, in the mouth much close, internal language.
Lovers
She is standing on my eyelids.
And her hair is in the mine,
She has the form of my hands,
She has the colour of my eyes,
She sinks into my shadow
Like a stone on the sky.
She has always the eyes open
And doesn’t let me sleep.
Her dreams in vast light
Make vanish the suns,
Make me laugh, sweep and laugh,
Speak without having nothing to tell.
The deaf and the blind
Will we win the sea with bells
In our pockets, with the noise of the sea
In the sea, or will we be the bearers
Of a water more pure and silent?
The water scrubs the hands sharpen the knives.
The warriors are found their arms in the flows
And the noise of their hits is seem to this one
Rocks smash the ships in the night.
It’s the storm and the thunder. Why not of the silence
Of the flood, because we have in all we the dreamed space
For the most big silence and we breathe
Like the wind of the terrible seas, like the wind
That crawls slowly on all the horizons.
Habit
All my little friends are dented :
They like their mother.
All my animals are required,
They have feet of marble
And by hands of window.
The wind deforms,
It needs a habit to mesure,
Excessive.
This is why
I say the truth without the saying.
In the Dance
Small childish table,
there’s women which of eyes are like the pieces of sugar,
there’s serious women like the movements of the love that we don’t surprise
there’s women of pale faces,
of others like the sky to the watch for the wind
Small golden table of the days of festival,
there’s women of green wood and dark
those which weep,
of dark and green wood :
those which smile.
Small table too low or too high.
there’s women greasy
with the light shadows,
there’s hollow dresses
dry dresses
dresses that at the door of her room and which the love don’t bring out.
Small table,
I don’t like the tables on which I dance,
I had no idea.
Construction Toy – À Raymond Russel.
The man runs away, the horse flies,
The door can’t be opened,
The bird is silent, digs his grave,
Silent make it fade.
A butterfly on a branch
Wait patiently the winter,
Its heart is heavy, the branch bends,
The branch holds like a worm.
Why the dried flower cry weeps
And why lilas weeps?
Why the amber rose weeps?
Why gentle thinking weeps?
Why the hidden flower searches
_ If it have no reward?
– But for there, there and there.
Between Others
_ To the shadow of trees
_ Like as the miracle times
At the middle of men
Like the most beautiful woman
Without regrets, without honesty,
I left the world.
– What did you see?
– A young woman, tall and beautiful
In very row-cut black robe
Giorgio de Chirico
A wall denounces other wall
And the shadow defend me from my fearful shadow.
Ô round of my love around of my love,
All the white walls around span my silence.
You, what dit you defend? Insensitive and pure sky
Trembling you sheltered me. The light in relief
On the sky that is not more mirror in the sky,
The stars of day during the green leaves,
The memory of them which speaks without knowledge,
Masters of my weakness and I’m at its place
With the eyes of love and the very faithful hands
For empty a world in which I’m absent.
Worn Mouth
The smile held its bottle
At the mouth laughed the death
In all the beds where we sleep
The sky within all the bodies sleep
A bright green ribbon at the ear
Three balls a ring of gold
_ She brings without effort
A shadow in the lights equal
Small win of vapours
At the evening of seas without travellers
From the seas that the cruel sky goes through
Delights carried in the hand
More sweet fragments to the end
The lost branches under the rust.
In the Cylinder of Tribulations
The world brings me and I will have momeries.
Thirty sons of opaque body, thirty sons defied by the imagination, approaches to the man who rests in the small valley of madness.
The man in question plays with favour. He plays against himself and win. The thirty sons quickly get upset. The strokes of the play are not which of love and the spectacle is not worm as well, attractive and pleasant.
I speak to thirty sons of opaque body and to a happy player. There’s enough, in a town of wool and feathers, a bird on the back of a sheep. The sheep, in the fables, lead the bird in paradise.
There’s enough the personified centuries of, the greatness of present centuries, the vertigo of defended years and the lost fruits.
The memories bring me and and I will have the round eyes like the world.
Denise said Wonders
The evening trails swallows. The owls
Shared the Sun ant weighed on the ground
Like them not yet let of a solitary
More pale that nature and sleeping all standing.
The evening trails white arms on our heads.
The courage burns the women among us,
They wept, they cried like beasts,
The men worried had knelt down.
The evening, a nothing, a swallow which rise.
A lack of wind, the leaves which don’t fly more,
A beautiful detail, a spell without truth
For a look which doesn’t included the space yet.
Blessing
On the adventure, in a boat, at the North.
In the trumpet of birds
Fishes in their element.
The man which mines his crown
Light up a blaze in the bell,
A beautiful ant-nest-brazier.
And the iron-clad warrior
Which is roasted on a spindle
Understand love and music.
Curse
An eagle, on a rock, gazed the blissful horizon. A eagle defends the mouvement of spheres. Sweet colours of the charity, sadness, glimmers on the emancipated trees, lyre of cobweb star, men which under all the heavens resemble are brutal too on the ground which at the sky. And the one which pulled the knife in the high grasses, in the grasses of my eyes, of my hair and of my dreams, the one who bring in his arms all the signs of shadow, is fallen, speckled with azure, on the flower of four colours.
Silence of Gospel
We sleep with the red angels who show us the desert without minuscule and without the sweet desolating wakes. We sleep. An wing blow us, evasion, we have the old wheels that the feathers flew away, lost, for explore the chimneys of the slowness, the only luxury.
*
The bottle that we enrolled the lines of our wounds don’t resist to none of envy. First names of hearts, hairs, muscles of the rage, first names of the invisible flowers of pale young girls and the established children, first names the hand and the memory, close the eyes of souvenir, a theory of trees delivered by the thieves strike us and divide us, all the pieces are good. Who assemble them : terror, suffering or disgust?
*
Sleep, my brothers. The inexplicable chapter became incomprehensible. Giants pass by exhaling terrible complaints, complaints of giant, complaints like the dawn wants to push it, the dawn that can’t complain, for the time, my brothers, for the time.
Without grudge
Tears of eyes, the misfortunes of the misfortunes
Misfortunes without interest and tears without colours
It doesn’t ask nothing, it isn’t insensible,
It is sad in prison and sad that it’s free.
It’s a sad time, it’s a black night
Don’t keep a blind outside. The forts
Are enough, the weak holds the power
And the king is standing before the queen sits down.
Smiles and sighs, of the injures rot
In the mouth of the dumbs and in the eyes of the cowards
Don’t take nothing : this burns, that blazes!
*
A shadow…
All the unhappiness of the world
And my love above
Like a naked beast.
The One Who Has No Speak
The leaves of colour in the nocturnal trees
And the green and blue liana that joins the sky and trees,
The wind blows big
The thrifts. Avalanche, towards its transparent head
The light, cloud of insects, vibrate and die.
Undressed miracle, crumbling, split
For only being
The most beautiful unknown
Agonize eternally.
Stars of its heart to eyes of everyone.
Nudity of the Truth
“I kwnow it very much.”
The despair doesn’t have wings.
Love no more,
No face,
Doesn’t speak,
I don’t move,
I don’t see them,
I don’t speak with it
But I’m alive good enough as mu love and my despair.
Perspective
A millions of the savages
Appear to engage.
They are weapons,
They are their heart, big heart,
And align with slowness
Front of a millions of green trees
That, without having the air,
Hold following to their feuillage.
Your Faith
Am I anything but your force?
Your force in your arms,
Your head in your arms,
Your force in the sky de composed,
Your head pitiful,
Your head that I bring.
You won’t play more with me,
Lost heroin,
My force moves in your arms.
Mascha Laughed in Heaven
The hour that trembles at the deep of all times confused
A beautiful small bird more quick as a dust
Haunt on a mirror a body without head
The balls of sun lead to their wings
And the wind of its flight freaks out light.
The best was discovered far from here.
List of Poetry Translations
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Anna de Noailles, Francis Jammes, W. B. Yeats, Rupert Brooke, etc.