Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Trees long-haired with moss
Heavy rubbery glossy leaves
High burnished heat
I’ve stopped listening to the urgent voices of my friends discussing
The news that I brought from Paris
On both sides of the train close by or along the banks of
The distant valley
The forest is there watching me unsettling me enticing me like
a mummy’s mask
I watch back
Never the flicker of an eye.
* * *
There goes another year in which I haven’t thought about You
Since I wrote my penultimate poem Easter
My life has changed so much
But I’m the same as ever
I still want to become a painter
Here are the pictures that I’ve done displayed here on the walls this evening.
They reveal to me strange perspectives into myself that make me think of You.
See what I’ve unearthed
My paintings make me uneasy
I’m too passionate
Everything is tinted orange.
I’ve passed a sad day thinking about my friends
And reading my diary
A life crucified in this journal that I hold at arm’s length.
Like a crashing aeroplane
No matter how much you try to stay silent
Sometimes you have to cry out
I’m the other way
Found these at Qarrtsiluni, translated by Dick Jones. I just fucking love Blaise Cendrars.
Posted by wooodenelephant at 9:07 pm