POETRY

IN THE CLOCK OF THE WATER A woman writes a poem with golden edges, dreams wonders born from her chest, everything seems possible. Her body is a multitude, has just hands and feet, and its pores remind us of the transparency of the angels, when they sit on the clouds to hunt sparks for their flashes. A woman wakes up …

I WOULD LIKE TO BE CHILD I would like to be a child, to match the distance clouds up lame form, go to the merriment of what is small, and wonder, as who does not know him, the color of the leaves. How was it? To ignore what is green, the green sea, the healthy response of the sunset in …

SENSATION > Par les soirs bleus d’été, j’irais dans les sentiers, picoté par les blés, fouler l’herbe menue: rêveur, j’en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds. Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue. Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien: mais l’amour infini me montera dans l’âme. Et j’irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien, par la Nature, …

TAKE THIS ROSE > Prends cette rose aimable comme toi, qui sert de rose aux roses les plus belles, qui sert de fleur aux fleurs les plus nouvelles, dont la senteur me ravit tout de moi. Prends cette rose, et ensemble reçois, dedans ton sein mon coeur qui n’a point d’ailes: il est constant et cent plaies cruelles, n’ont empêché …

HUG Heart to heart. And breathe in the breath. So close to me, so as not to see you. Over your shoulder, I saw in the distance a dark mountain. I was stretched out in a rush, as if to pass you. I felt the pounding heart beat of the stars. I welcomed the wind out of breath, covered with …

WHITE NIGHTS Unknown source of light, soaked granite and gardens. The Neva has poured into the sky blushes, the sky in the river in blue shivers. And shoulder to shoulder two young go with cautious and slow step, not to disperse this light, that heart-to-heart overflows. (Blaga Dimitrova) http://www.amazon.com/Scars-Blaga-Dimitrova/dp/1930214030/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

THIS DAY Finally, after days of rain, sun and clouds roll over the hills dreamlike, perfect upcountry morning. I pull the Jeep over on the shoulder of Crater Road to watch a pair of horses, grazing in the sun. How their burnished coats gleam against the wild green, fields of yellow dandelion and brush, how flies swarm their flanks in …

NATASHA, THE WHITE DONKEY AND ME Tonight the snow falls endlessly, because I, a poor man, love the beautiful Natasha. I love Natasha, the snow falls endlessly, and I sit alone, drinking rice wine. Drinking rice wine, I think: the night the snow falls endlessly, I would like to ride, with Natasha, upon a white donkey to a remote, mournful …

PARTING BEFORE DAYBREAK First the day, then daybreak, and finally the time for parting. Local time in Beijing is 7 o’clock according to the TV. As a child, I liked to lie in bed, and wait for daybreak, my silver broach stayed in its soft dormant curve. I counted my fingers, exactly ten. Almost daybreak, but no light in the …

A QUARTER TO THREE: THE IDEAL A quarter to three: we need to be even thinner, even that which caresses the nose somewhere stinks, into words. Knocking for bread is clear, chew death is clear, the fog returns, and withdraws the breath is clear. The slow water, roaring through the crack in the asphalt road, is deadly nonsense, it’s world …