mardi 10 novembre 2009


(ce fragment du poème faerie queene est en train d'être travaillé)

subtlety comes first in children
when language is accomplished
language very quick gets into a dry daily thing

So few stories that I could know well surrounded by books
stories are mouth to ear and I have not your company here
I was supposed to be a major poet
finding stories to tell along in deep mythology
I only have you and my confusion of mine
sort of poem Revolution number nine not a song
a major Poem called to be begun

we factors of revolution
the rebels
should we unite in the search
of some continent?

I was a not yet flying blackbird in the fall of night
Sang my song I catch my aerian destiny
wich is not to be able to go down on earth
since there stands mishealed our despairing pain

I'm in sorrow and you look comfortable
we cursed artists
in the search
for some continent

we cursed artists
have hope on dream
have tears still coming to our face
like water
we write our names in a dictionary and give no definition
we have no time to be set in context
the cursed hides a forgiven to take dictionary
in her disfashioned handbag of hers
she has no explanation to passing Hours
wich round bodies seem plane
to the weak dose of Michaux in L'infini turbulent

cursed is the mule, the mythomaniac,
the cursed by family cursing
the idiot

You say to me you will take your work to the end
make me a poet, give me inspiration of your angel
equal to sound in my throut like a wine of tears and blood
as told in books arround
I will give you so my voice
in the distance

The plane and its blue flowers
is a solitude where fantoms go for a walk
and just angels meet
because of

I will take this plane
I will paint the blue flowers detailled one by one

Even if we are ruled by war
and every effort hurts to attain perfection

I will write on and on what you say to me
in order to feele I exist
I will write hypocrisy some others virtues of you

This side is warm and this side is cold
would you touch my bodily appearence ?

It is true that a holy cross on my neck
should spread an invitation to fornicators
to come hear pardon
and you know I'm sexy so make your prayer to me

Prayer of fornicator

Give me the cross of your disgrace
ass buttom to face intoxicated
unwealthy onions of Babylon dust
excuse me I read the Bible
and it seems I owe every bodily recipe
Men of older times were like dolphins
or like the hunter to love
centaures were the horses of the Minotaure
as the mare on Velazquez surrender
you are there biblically
because of the goods and needs of image
so you shall consider a literary painting in my work

You may see in the public space the copulation
of winged ants and human female and the poet
always a male long thirty hair

The centaur's weep
on the nightmare of sin
this faded sin like a red rose at a closed door
is like a song awakening before morning
he is unexistent and nonetheless

He is not able to talk
he is painting words
in the sky transforming of his forehead

The centaur's weep

I missed the lesson I missed the movie
I didn't visit galleries and disco clubs
I'm a child taken by your hand into darkness


This is the kind of thing he wanted you to listen to
how poor and clumsy he could have been
father of men and women you should listen
not the pope or the tyrant but him child of you
and every body here in joy

And music

I feel destroy
I should be a boy
hunting for rabbits in your sacred land
father of the zodiac
on the floor of your astronaut living-room

Father of connections
you will see I'm funny
I will laugh down on my knees
I'm jumping
I'm elevating
I have a vision of earthly cities
never tired
never tired of being so tired I have luxury
and I'm jumping in total void

so pull the rope of this memory dwelled fountain of crystal mirror blood
the city and garden of hospitality
to kiss with letters and poetry my cheeks of rainy cloud
drop by drop in your window
I knew you'll wait for me there


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