Tag: Poetry

Not to Divide

At the evening of insanity, naked and clear,
The space between things has the form of my speakings
The form of speakings of a unknown,
Of a vagabond who unties the belt from his throat
And who takes the echoes of lasso.

Between trees and gates,
Between walls and jaws,
Between this big bird trembling
At the hill which overwhelms,
The space has the form of my view.

My eyes are useless,
The reign of dust is finished,
The lock of the road put my rigid coat,
She run away more, I doesn’t move more,
All the bridges are cut, the sky will no longer pass there
I can’t to see there anymore.
The world detached from my universe.
And all the peak of battles,
When the season of blood fades in my head,
I distinguish the days of this clarity of man.
That is the mine.
I distinguish the vertigo of liberty,
The death of the drunk,
The sleep of the dream,

Ô reflections on myself! ô my bloody reflections!

Absences I

The flat voluptuousness and the poor mystery
Which of not seen.

I know you, color of trees and of cities,
Between us is the transparence of form
Between the bright looks.
She rolls on stones
Like the water waddles.
Of a side of my heart of gloomy virgins,
Of the other side the gentle hand is on the hillside
The curve of little water causes this fall,
This mixture of mirrors.
Lights of precision, I don’t blink,
I don’t move,
I speak
And when I sleep
My throat is a ring with the sign of gossamer.

Absences II

I go out to the branches of shadows,
I’m at the bottom of shadows,
Only.

The pity is more high and little good stay there,
The virtue makes dole of her bosom
And the grace was caught in the nets of his eyelids.
She is more beautiful than the figures of the stands,
She is more heavy,
She is in bottom with stones and shadows.
I met her.

This is here that the clarity fights his last battle.
I sleep so I don’t have to see dreams anymore.
What will then be the weapons of my triumph?
In my big eyes open the Sun makes the joints,
Ô garden of my eyes!
All the fruits are here to represent the fruits.
Of fruits in the night.
A window of foliage
Opens itself suddenly in my face.
Where I put my lips, nature without strand?
A woman is more beautiful than the world where I live
And I close my eyes.
I go out into the arms of shadows.
I’m at arms of shadows.
And shadows wait for me.

End of Circonstances

A bouquet completely burns undone the rooster of waves
And all plumage of the ruin
Ray in the night and in the sea of the sky.
More than horizon, more than ceinture,
The wrecks, for the first time, make the guests who don’t support. Everything is spread, nothing can’t be imagined anymore.

Bather from Light to Shadow

Afternoon of the day. Lightly, you move and, lightly, sand and sea move.
We admire the order of things, the order of stones, the order of clarities, the order of hours. But this shadow that disappeared and this sorrowful element that disappeared.
The evening, the noble is gone from the sky. Here, everything huddles together in a fire that goes out.
The evening. The sea not have gleam anymore and, like the ancient times, you could sleep in the sea.

Première du monde – À Pablo Picasso

Fascinated by the plain, dying madman,
The light on you hides, sees the sky :
It closed the eyes to strike your dream,
It closed your clothes to break your chains.

_ Before the wheels all tied
_ A fun laugh out loud.
_ In the treacherous nets of grass
_ The roots lose their reflection.

_ Can’t you catch up the waves?
_ Of which boats are almonds.
_ In your hot and coaxing palm
_ Or in the curls of your head?

_ Can’t you catch up stars?
_ Quartered, you look like them,
_ In their nest of fire you remain
_ And your radiance multiplies.

_ Of the silent dawn a only cry wants to burst forth,
_ A swirling sun streams under the bark
_ It will settle on your closed eyelids
_ Ô gentle, when you sleep, the night mingles the day.

(No Title)

On the red threat of a sword, undoing her hair which guides kisses, which watches to that place kiss rests, elle laughs. Boredom, on her shoulder, fell asleep. The boredom does not get bored with her who laughs, the reckless, and of an insane laugh, of a laugh of end of the day scattering under all the bridges of red suns, of blue moons, faded flowers of a disenchanted bouquet. It’s like a big carriage of wheats and its hands geminating and we pull the langage. The roads she drags behind her are her pets, and her majestic steps close their eyes.

Hidden

Gardening is the passion, beautiful beast of gardener. On the branches, its head covered with thin paws of bird. To a son who sees in the trees.

The Wiz of Club

She plays like null doesn’t play and I’m only to see it. There are her eyes which bring her back in my dreams. Near motionless, to the experience.
And this other which she takes by the wings of her ears kept the form of their halos. In the brace of her hands, a swallow with flat hair struggles without hope. She is blind.

List of Poetry Translations
(Français, English, Español, Italiano, Deutsch, Nederlands, Svenska)
Anna de Noailles, Paul Éluard, W. B. Yeats, Rupert Brooke, etc.

I

On the house of laugh
A bird laughs in its wings.
The world is such quiet
That it’s no longer in its place
And such pleasure
That he lacks nothing.

II

Why I am so beautiful?
Because my master washes me.

III

With your eyes I change like with the moons
And I’m in turn to turn and of plumb and of plume,
An mysterious and black water that encloses you
Or good in your hair in your light victory.

IV

A color lady, a color gent,
One to bosoms, one to hair,
A mouth of passions
And such you see red
The more beautiful is to your knees.

V

To make laugh the certain one,
Is she in stone?
She collapses.

VI

The monster of the leaked air as plumes
Of this bird scorched by fire of the gun.
Its complaint stirs all the long of a wall of tears
And the scissors of eyes cut the melody
Which shoot already in the heart of the chaser.

VII

Nature has become entangled in the strings of your life.
The tree, your shadow, shows naked flesh : the sky.
It has the voice of sand and the gestures of wind.
And all the things you say move behind you.

VIII

She refuses always to understand, to wait,
She laughs to hiding her dread of herself.
She walked always on the arcs of nights.
And everywhere the she passed
She left
The footprint of the broken things.

IX

On this dilapidated sky, on these windows of sweet water,
What face will come, resonant shell,
Calling that the night of the love touches the day.
Mouth opens links to the mouth closed.

X

Unknown, she was my favorite form,
The one who takes me away the worry of being a man,
And I see her and I lost her and I suffered
My pain, like a little of Sun in the cold water.

XI

The men that change and resemble
Are, the session of their days, always closes the eyes
For clear the haze of derision
And…

List of Poetry Translations
(Français, English, Español, Italiano, Deutsch, Nederlands, Svenska)
Anna de Noailles, Francis Jammes, W. B. Yeats, Rupert Brooke, etc.