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“Her white arms became my entire horizon
("The Rooster And The Pearl")”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
("The Rooster And The Pearl")”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
“There are so many people in this world who can live day to day, sourly dismissing love as just a man made illusion with the sole purpose of embedding hopeless festering ideas of a richer, fuller, happier existence into our psyche, in the hopes that it will make our seemingly wasteful, unneeded, and depressing lives just a little more tolerable.
When we invite intimacy into our life, we take a wager strong enough to lift our spirits and make us feel as if nothing in this world can overcome us, and that no challenge is insurmountable. But Love can indeed be a dangerous game to play. There's nothing in the world that can be easier than to give up on the idea after a heartbreak. Anybody can do it.
But it doesn't always take being in a strong, everlasting bond with our soul mate to bring out the best in us. There's just something about the pursuit of love that for some reason beckons us to keep getting back on the horse. The hunt is what keeps our dreams alive and strong until that day comes when we stand across the altar from our brides and grooms, about to lean in to that one kiss that takes us into our eternal, everlasting life of bliss and happiness.”
―
When we invite intimacy into our life, we take a wager strong enough to lift our spirits and make us feel as if nothing in this world can overcome us, and that no challenge is insurmountable. But Love can indeed be a dangerous game to play. There's nothing in the world that can be easier than to give up on the idea after a heartbreak. Anybody can do it.
But it doesn't always take being in a strong, everlasting bond with our soul mate to bring out the best in us. There's just something about the pursuit of love that for some reason beckons us to keep getting back on the horse. The hunt is what keeps our dreams alive and strong until that day comes when we stand across the altar from our brides and grooms, about to lean in to that one kiss that takes us into our eternal, everlasting life of bliss and happiness.”
―
“Cubism is ... a picture for its own sake.
Literary Cubism does the same thing in literature, using reality merely as a means and not as an end.”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
Literary Cubism does the same thing in literature, using reality merely as a means and not as an end.”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
“The raven of Edgar Allan Poe has a halo that he extinguishes from time to time
("Spanish Generosity")”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
("Spanish Generosity")”
― The Cubist Poets in Paris: An Anthology
“We don’t know very well those we love But I understand them fairly well Being all these people myself I who am however but a baboon.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
“Je regarde à travers mes pleurs.
Ici la mort a pour voisine
la croissance des palmiers nains :
Ton corbillard, ô ma Delphine !
n'est qu'un oiseau des boulingrins.
Quand je fus fatigué de larmes,
las des voyages et malheurs,
un coin de violettes de Parme
avança le pied du Seigneur.”
―
Ici la mort a pour voisine
la croissance des palmiers nains :
Ton corbillard, ô ma Delphine !
n'est qu'un oiseau des boulingrins.
Quand je fus fatigué de larmes,
las des voyages et malheurs,
un coin de violettes de Parme
avança le pied du Seigneur.”
―
“De ta petite oreille j'oublie les longs secrets,
ton sourire d'enfantelet, l'éphémère
qu'on ose pas baiser, tes paupières
aveuglées par mes lèvres, sources claires du destin,
froides, chaudes comme la lune en juin.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
ton sourire d'enfantelet, l'éphémère
qu'on ose pas baiser, tes paupières
aveuglées par mes lèvres, sources claires du destin,
froides, chaudes comme la lune en juin.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
“La mort est un printemps qui n'est pas éphémère.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
“Pour mon puissant amour et mon plus fort dédain
comme on verrait dans un vaste miroir sans tain
s'attirer et se nuire des poules bigarrées
je vois le lys profond, la rose qui succombe
au poids fécond de ses entrailles,
circuler le touriste, photographe égaré
parmi l'herbe fleurie des tombes.
Je suis mourant d'avoir compris
que notre terre n'est d'aucun prix.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
comme on verrait dans un vaste miroir sans tain
s'attirer et se nuire des poules bigarrées
je vois le lys profond, la rose qui succombe
au poids fécond de ses entrailles,
circuler le touriste, photographe égaré
parmi l'herbe fleurie des tombes.
Je suis mourant d'avoir compris
que notre terre n'est d'aucun prix.”
― Derniers poèmes en vers et en prose
