TERMINAL STATE OF POETRY
A new time lost in despairs,
Blood turns stonger inside my temples;
Alternately my face throws itself in his metamorphoses,
Freezes itself and appears sudden emaciated and splendid!
Trying to strecht his reflection in a disgusting mirror,
I deceive my eyes, i didn't succeed in finding how,
I needed to scream...and then i remain in my moving sand;
And you know as the step is slow!
If the ascension toward life could represent itself,
As a scaffolding in a tower of ivory,
we would not need to go to the highest,
To admire the sight...thing that we forget of it!
There are bad things that push in us...
Forked hairs, embodied nails, rough beards.
All it makes forget the rightly heat of a body,
That body that tears itself of poetry!
Is the soul is sensible without the heart?
Was this it who made the butterfly in the mist,
Tattooing my skin of her black wreckage,
As the night on our stars? Yes and she capsized me!
Denis-Pierre Bertin, M.E
December 1999.
SONNET
To twenty years, one has the difficult eye and so proud,
One doesn't look at the first arrival,
But most beautiful, and, full of an ingenuous ecstazy,
One takes for love the desire been born of yesterday.
Later, when one made the bitter training,
The insolent great eye decreases,
And of others, of a grace once unrecognized,
Reveal a treasure more intimate and dearer.
But one never makes that to change of misfortune;
To age where one believed in to only love one,
It is already by her that one learned to suffer;
Then, when one recognizes that more than one is charming,
One feels that it's too late to choose a lover,
And that the heart doesn't have the strengh to open up anymore.
(les solitudes, 1869) Sully Prudhomme.
Musica Eternal translation, (12.1999)
SECOND PART of 'AURELIA'
Eurydice! Eurydice!
A second time losted!
All is finished, all is passed! It is me now that must die,
and to die without hope.
Is_therefore this is that the death? If it was nothingness...Was pleasing to God!
But God himself can only make that the death is nothingness.
Why is therefore this is the first time, since a long time,
That i think of him?
The fatal system that was created itself it my mind,
Didn't admit this lone royalty...
Or rather it absorbed itself in the sum of beings:
It was the God of Lucrétius, impotent an lost in his immensity.
Her, yet believe in God, and i surprised Jésus' name one day on her lips.
It flowed so smoothly that i cried some.
Oh my God! This tear,..it dried since a so long time!
This tear, my God! Give it back to me!
Gérard De Nerval.(1855)
Musica Eternal translation, (12.1999.)
ESSAY ON POETRY
Light is the poet's insomnia,
Light is not the knowledge,
All as water is not music!
It give out her infernal radius,
To the same heart of this obscurity wanted
...and only muse of the poet !
This notion of obscurity may be discerned as real inspiration,
To the day of some unobtrusive minds,
facing his torture.
Because she's the recurrent symptom of the partial paralysis of the poet imagination.
And how much sutures is necessary for him to put back itself of her disaster?
Then living hidden of this one,
The poet manufactures himself a less frightening world.
Where all elements of the nature,
Are charming of poetry,
Becomes painless by his only imagination...
Alas for him,
He will need to always give accounts to pay,
For the troubled water of his truth,
Of some humiliations, solitudes and avatars.
Where apostles of luck won't have another,Target than the poet's heart...
This heart patched with lots of proofs of love,
Is his ocean,
Absolute to all compilation of reflection...
Will have since his first throwing,
The clever choice,
Of the quiltiest verses of beauty!
Musica Eternal (autumn 1998)
LAST LOVE
My memories of you without your face,
Float tenderly to the intimate destination of a tear...
A tear that vagabond now, alone, henceforce free,
Of my lid, as if she was jailed...
As if i could keep it, me!
And even though it would solidifies,
To the measure of a beautiful seattered regret in me,
That i accepted, and fed to the fear,
during all those days naked,
in your absence;
It will escape me with a reflection of farewell,
At the first hour of distress of my courage!
A tear is this all the last exchange of all the love that i gave you?
Around what law, you imposes me this tragic opéra,
where me only must perish?
By behind me i'm stab...i thought your storyForever saved,
More précious in her confession,
If finely opposite to the loss of your light.This light, last torch that i revive laboriously,
To the sublime art of your beauty.
Ever missed but reproduced ever quite!
I yet feel it, everywhere to my sides,
Absolute to preserve this vow impérishable of your harmony,
So dear to my heart!
When i reconsider to our joys, our indecent pleasures,
Even of fantasy, of that my memory keep inAs an affecting and faithful spouse!
I lose all age, all correspondances with the turn,
If cruelly bitter of our love, as if still,
He had been devoured by wolves whom you would have trained against me...
And let me thus fallen, the overcome heart inexplicably...
No one can describe what my heart underwent,
To tell you that i felt lthe loss of my hope in your love,
In all love, would be a very weak comparison!
Such as a nostalgic refugee, i wander without goal,
Conscious that one would not take of it to me anymore...
To make see me the beautiful pace of your face dazzled,
By so much in love alchemy,
That such as Merlin i enchanted;
Oh! the beautiful mirage!
If one had predicted me that it would be later,
Ordered to what i win...lost in madness :
one bed of verses!
Musica Eternal (june 1999)