Saturday, January 29, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Nadine Jansen &milena Velba
Publication of "We, the myriad"
poetic anthology prepared by Françoise Coulmin, published "The Star-Spangled"
From the multitude of poetry, voices of those poets of the street, including an excerpt from my book open which, as its name implies, can only be a book in the works.
A remarkable text by Serge Pey, about this, extract leprosy to a Young Poet, published last year, in editions Torts:
site of Serge Pey, for the curious:
Published on the occasion of the festival talk time 2011 and the Association The voice of the words in Dijon:
Happy reading.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Why Alexix Texas Does Do Black Guys?
Family of this world ...
Poem for an end of year ... and the beginning of another.
And thousands of buds come see what's happening in the world
For the curiosity of the earth is infinite.
And the child is born and her little head not closed yet
starts thinking in the greatest secrecy among the great people while employed him.
And he is naked under the pressure of demanding daylight
Turning to and fro her eyes almost blind at the end of the night nursery
filling the room, as it may, this cry came from another world.
And although completed, it still opens its delicate fragility in fontanelles
While closing strong his little fists as a bearded man who gets angry.
And his mother is a well-intentioned giant that stands in the shade and took in his arms,
still amazed to hear that flesh which now has a separate voice
Like a fish that would hear her scream fishing
Or the olive, its olive.
But in the shade in a drawing that whitens the auroral circle
And lips brand new, just finished, and have a great hurry to serve
grope his meeting
Until you hear the faint sound of throat comprehensive
When the milk starts to pass from mother to the child.
And life is going his way it knows uninterrupted
Under the ticking of the clock
Time For day and night soaks the moisture invisible everything we do on land.
But we should not forget that the father is in the room
And feeling at once its perfect uselessness
He thinks it's time to look out the window
But the greatness of the world moves on gaping in deep anesthesia,
And the Earth rotates effortlessly as thinking about something else,
And Ursa Major and Betelgeuse
show their inhuman face at the window of the train ground
Who does not look to move forward although it always
well oiled and the universe makes less noise
That barefoot child that rub against each other,
Because the child is still there, stuck to the earth mother.
Montevideo, March 1944 .
1939-1945
All about Jules Supervielle 
Poem for an end of year ... and the beginning of another.
And thousands of buds come see what's happening in the world
For the curiosity of the earth is infinite.
And the child is born and her little head not closed yet
starts thinking in the greatest secrecy among the great people while employed him.
And he is naked under the pressure of demanding daylight
Turning to and fro her eyes almost blind at the end of the night nursery
filling the room, as it may, this cry came from another world.
And although completed, it still opens its delicate fragility in fontanelles
While closing strong his little fists as a bearded man who gets angry.
And his mother is a well-intentioned giant that stands in the shade and took in his arms,
still amazed to hear that flesh which now has a separate voice
Like a fish that would hear her scream fishing
Or the olive, its olive.
But in the shade in a drawing that whitens the auroral circle And lips brand new, just finished, and have a great hurry to serve
grope his meeting
Until you hear the faint sound of throat comprehensive
When the milk starts to pass from mother to the child.
And life is going his way it knows uninterrupted
Under the ticking of the clock
Time For day and night soaks the moisture invisible everything we do on land.
But we should not forget that the father is in the room
And feeling at once its perfect uselessness
He thinks it's time to look out the window
But the greatness of the world moves on gaping in deep anesthesia,
And the Earth rotates effortlessly as thinking about something else,
And Ursa Major and Betelgeuse
show their inhuman face at the window of the train ground
Who does not look to move forward although it always
well oiled and the universe makes less noise
That barefoot child that rub against each other,
Because the child is still there, stuck to the earth mother.
Montevideo, March 1944 .
1939-1945
All about Jules Supervielle
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)