A silvery scarce-call-silver gloss
Lighted the watery-plated leaves.
G.M. Hopkins
a fragment of an unwritten poem
Monday, July 29, 2013
Sunday, July 21, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
solitude weaves its roughcast
Si je criais à m'en rompre les veines
Qu'ajouterais-je au vent
Qui tourne dans la cour
Si je riais à m'en rompre les vitres
Qu'ajouterais-je aux nuits
Qui gardent ma maison
Si je pleurais à m'en rompre les paumes
Qu'ajouterais-je au lit
Où mon corps fait défaut
Une rose trémière enclose dans ma bouche
Réserve son pollen
Pour l'abeille du jour
Insecte mort je suis
Cloué sur un mur lisse
La solitude y tisse son crépi
La solitude y tisse
La solitude
--Jean-Pierre Armand
If I cried out hard enough to burst my veins
What would I add to the wind
That swirls in the courtyard
If I laughed hard enough to shatter my windows
What would I add to the nights
That guard my house
If I wept hard enough to break my palms
What would I add to the bed
Where my body is absent
A rose trémière closed in my mouth
Keeps its pollen
For the bee of day
Dead insect I am
Nailed to a smooth wall
There solitude weaves its roughcast
There solitude weaves
Its solitude
(my translation)
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Friday, July 5, 2013
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
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