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UBU Kingdom |
| Rubén Medina UBU Kingdom |  |
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Plutôt la vie |
Plutôt la vie que ces prismes sans épaisseur même si les couleurs sont plus pures Plutôt que cette heure toujours couverte que ces terribles voitures de flammes froides Que ces pierres blettes Plutôt ce coeur à cran d'arrêt Que cette mare aux murmures Et que cette étoffe blanche qui chante à la fois dans l'air et dans la terre Que cette bénédiction nuptiale qui joint mon front à celui de la vanité totale Plutôt la vie Plutôt la vie avec ses draps conjuratoires Ses cicatrices d'évasions Plutôt la vie plutôt cette rosace sur ma tombe La vie de la présence rien que de la présence Où une voix dit Est-tu là où une autre répond Est-tu là Je n'y suis guère hélas Et pourtant quand nous ferions le jeu de ce que nous faisons mourir Plutôt la vie Plutôt la vie plutôt la vie Enfance vénérable Le ruban qui part d'un fakir Ressemble à la glissière du monde Le soleil a beau n'être qu'une épave Pour peu que le corps de la femme lui ressemble Tu songes en contemplant la trajectoire tout du long Ou seulement en fermant les yeux sur l'orage adorable qui a nom ta main Plutôt la vie Plutôt la vie avec ses salons d'attente Lorsqu'on sait qu'on ne sera jamais introduit Plutôt la vie que ces établissements thermaux Où le service est fait par des colliers Plutôt la vie défavorable et longue Quand les livres se refermeraient ici sur des rayons moins doux Et quand là-bas il ferait mieux que meilleur il ferait libre oui Plutôt la vie Plutôt la vie comme fond de dédain À cette tête suffisamment belle Comme l'antidote de cette perfection qu'elle appelle et qu'elle craint La vie le fard de Dieu La vie comme un passeport vierge Une petite ville comme Pont-à-Mousson Et comme tout s'est déjà dit Plutôt la vie. André Breton en "Claire de Terre", Éditions Gallimard, 1966
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| A Thousand
Thousand
Times Under cover of footsteps returning at evening to a tower inhabited by mysterious symbols eleven in number the snow that melts as I grasp it in my hand this snow I love has dreams and I am one of those dreams I who grant to day and night as much youth as they need they are two gardens where my hands walk with nothing to do and while the eleven symbols rest I share a love which is a copper and silver mechanism in the hedges I'm one of the most delicate gears in earthly love and earthly love hides the other loves the way the symbols hide the spirit from me A lost stab whizzes past the walker's ear I've stripped the sky like a marvelous bed my arm hangs from the sky with a rosary of stars descending day by day whose first bead will disappear into the sea instead of my vivid colors soon there won't be anything but snow on the sea The symbols appear at the door they are eleven different colors and their respective dimensions would make you die of pity one of them has to bend down and cross its arms to enter the tower I hear another one on fire in a prosperous region and this one on horseback riding industry the uncommon mountainous industry like the wild donkey that feeds on trout The hair the long dappled hair characterizes the symbol wearing the doubly ogival buckler beware of the idea rolled along by mountain streams my construction my beautiful construction page by page house insanely glazed in the wide open sky the wide open earth it's a fault in the rock suspended by rings from the curtain rod of the world it's a metallic curtain that comes down on divine inscriptions that you don't know how to read The symbols have never affected anyone but me I am born in the infinite disorder of prayers I live and die from one end of this line to the other that strangely measured line which connects my heart to the ledge of your window through it I communicate with all the prisoners in the world André Breton |
| Always for
the first time Always for the first time Hardly do I know you by sight You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window A wholly imaginary house It is there that from one second to the next In the inviolate darkness I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring The one and only rift In the facade and in my heart The closer I come to you In reality The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room Where you appear alone before me At first you coalesce entierly with the brightness The elusive angle of a curtain It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse With the diagonal slant of its girls picking Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare Before them a T-square of dazzling light The curtain invisibly raised In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep You as though you could be The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you You pretend not to know I am watching you Marvelously I am no longer sure you know You idleness brings tears to my eyes A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures It's a honeydew hunt There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings Flaring out in the center of a great white clover There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy There is By my leaning over the precipice Of your presence and your absense in hopeless fusion My finding the secret Of loving you Always for the first time André Breton |