This one I love. When you are under this influence, you cannot get caught up in the misery of the world ~ Simonne Sur la route de San Romano by Andre Breton translated by Simonne Guillerm Allen Poetry is made like love in a bed Its undone sheets are the beginning of things Poetry is done in the woods It has the space it needs Not this one but the one that depends On the eyes of the hawk The dew on the snake-grass The fogged souvenir of a bottle of Gewürztraminer on a silver tray A high stem of tourmaline over the sea And the road of mental adventure Which rises up abruptly One pause and she is mixed up right away. It is not screamed on the rooftop It is unproper to leave the door open Or call witnesses The school of fish the hedge of chickadees The rail and the entrance of a great station The reflection from two banks The furrows in the bread The bubble of the brook The days of the calendar The St. John’s Wort The act of love and the act of poetry Are not compatible With the reading of the newspaper loudly. The direction of the ray of the sun The blue light of the return of the blow of the axe of the woodcutter The thread of the kite shaped like a heart or a fish keep-net The beating in rhyme of the tail of the beaver The diligence of the lightning The throw of the sugar coated pill from the top of the steps The avalanche The chamber of prestigious things No sir, it is not the eighth chamber Nor the vapor of the bedroom on a Sunday evening The dancing figures executed transparently above the palms The delineation of the outline of the body of a woman from the throw of daggers against the wall The light undulation of the smoke The curls of your hair The curve of the sponge from the Philippines The snares of the coral snake The entrance of ivy in the ruins She has all of time in front of her. The poetic embrace like the fleshy one As long as it lasts Forbids all escape on the misery of the world. deniseporterkemp.wordpress
Posted on: Thu, 27 Mar 2014 16:23:13 +0000
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