(The Meteor of August 13th)
The second you appeared to me, my heart had all the sky to light its way. It was my poem’s noon. I knew that anguish slept.
(Novae)
First ray which hesitates between the imprecation of agony and a magnificent love.
Philosophy’s optimism is no longer enough.
The rock’s light shelters a major tree. We go forward toward its visibility.
Ever deeper wedding of the eyes. The tragedy now unfolding will delight even in our limits.
Danger did away with all our melancholy. We talked without looking at each other. Time held us together. Death avoided us.
Larks of the night, stars, whirling at the wellsprings of abandon, be progress to the brows that sleep.
I have leapt from my hawthorn-bordered bed. Barefoot, I talk to children.
(The Moon Changes Gardens)
Where shall I scatter this treasure of excrement which escorts me like a lamp?
Provisional hymns! Hymns contradicted!
Demented lights, obedient to the night.
Stormy freedom swaddled in lightning, above the sovereignty of the void, in the small hands of man.
Do not lose yourself in tomorrows. You watch winter striding over wounds, gnawing at windows, and, on death’s porch, inscrutable torture.
Those who sleep in wool, who run in the cold, who offer their mediation, who are not predators for want of better, are in phase with the meteor, enemy of the cock.
Illusorily, I am both in my soul and outside it, far in front of the windowpane and pressed up against the windowpane, a split saxifrage. My lust is infinite. Nothing obsesses me but life.
A nomad spark dying in its fire.
Love a river girl. Spend your truth. The grass which hides your love’s gold will never know frost.
On this perilous earth, I marvel at life’s idolatry.
May my presence, which causes you enigmatic uneasiness, unremitting hatred, be a meteor in your soul.
A birdsong surprises the morning’s branch.
[NK]