At the limits  
 of quest and doubt   
 there is this expectation,   
 clarity in its advent.      
  
 Clouds can crumble,   
 the winds are no longer enough,   
 there is also the tide of the heart   
 qui fait vaciller l'être.      
  
 The rain falling on the oilskin   
 in contact with bare skin   
 electrify the conscience   
 to be beyond animal heat   
 and below the world.      
  
 Nothing happens like before   
 the cows continue to graze   
 le chien est assis entre mes jambes,   
 je suis adossé au talus de pierres,   
 tous deux sommes de garde   
 drop by drop of the time that berates.      
  
 come back from the sea   
 the veils of childhood.      
  
 We must leave   
 not to come back,   
 the wet and the light marry,   
 tomorrow there will be the rainbow.      
  
  
  538

   My old mother   
 where she came from   
 I do not know   
 maybe from this train   
 above the viaduct   
 then back to hell with the sisters   
 without Mary   
 abandoned in soiled sheets   
 offered to terror.      
 
 My silent and loving father   
 clung to his wife    
 like the raft of the Medusa   
 running happily   
 behind the cart when leaving the station   
 in the dust of Montamize   
 then leaning against a straw   
 played the trumpet.      
 
 They had a child   
 inviting them to marry   
 the beautiful child of spring   
 to compensate for the entry into the war   
 at the end of the path between the wheat   
 picking cornflowers and poppy   
 in tenderness and injunction   
 for destiny to happen.      
 
 His name will be John   
 like that uncle who died young   
 released from the trenches   
 and the Spanish flu   
 that I had to reincarnate   
 came five years later   
 in shadow cast on the threshold   
 at granny Danube.      
 
 What do I know ?   
 I never saw it   
 but i believe it.      
 
 Then a girl came   
 to whom Lulu gave her first name    
 skylark   
 heard in planeze   
 in the summer paradise of familiar Auvergne.      
 
 When the youngest springs   
 it was the big upheaval   
 the oblivion of the Grenelle hovel   
 our wild mother was no longer haggard   
 to run the windfalls of his childhood   
 far from the bombardments   
 she got back on her feet   
 rearranged some pieces of the puzzle   
 and brought Fifi back under her pillow.      
 
 They didn't go any further   
 the workers of our source   
 built on the ruins of families in exile   
 they rest outside the stage   
 under the stars of a wide sky   
 that it is not vain to contemplate   
 in the evening when the RER shakes the tombs.      
 
 Sometimes at the top   
 three bright spots are eyeing us   
 behind the cloud race   
 our dead sing   
 the living scatter   
 on their way of life   
 swells the rumor of a tornado   
 that the wind lifts   
 on the road to Frugères   
 like the withdrawal of the Boches from Mont Mouchet   
 their package accomplished.   
 
 It's time to spread the tablecloth   
 on the grass of Pradou   
 to bring the crockery   
 in the big wicker basket   
 without forgetting the black wine drawn from the barrel   
 laugh and talk loud   
 while the children are heckling   
 may godmother prepare the camera
 and that grandfather signs with a cross   
 the bottom of the pie. 

          
  537
 

  have come closer   
near the big beech   
to erase the seasons   
going back to the past years.      
 
Sitting around the stump   
to contemplate the high foliage   
have reminisced   
the wild boar trail.      
 
Then prayed   
for the rain to come back   
under the crackle of the mud   
cove of ultimate protections.      
 
inquired   
of what they were doing   
dinosaurs our friends   
to topple the tall trees   
while the immense plain   
bruissait des cavalcades   
completed shadows   
outside the customary grasslands.      
 
dot clock   
just shadow and light   
warping with bitter breath   
order and remonstrance   
of our brothers the successors   
drunk with life to come   
and running under the forest    
towards the clearing surrounded by cob   
protrude   
the last stone.      
 
 
 536

 
   Closes the operculum of the whelk   
 on the sand   
 with soapy bubbles   
 caress of passing time   
 in the hollow of the weary waves   
 false spring   
 dilated nostrils   
 whats up marines ahanantes   
 the hand touches the raising of the veils   
 under the taut yard   
 metallic note of the piano   
 racy silence   
 sagacious wandering   
 before the angel came   
 with a sly face   
 under the rain of petals   
 that the wind scatters   
 a thousand kisses at auction   
 for the pigeons of autumn   
 brazier gathering   
 at the end of the grant   
 the clear flight of what was.         
  
 die white live black.      
  
  
  535

   On the blue forehead of your childhood    
 through the dark passes of the night   
 an eye landed   
 small puddle of salt water   
 on your wavy lips   
 let the wind blow   
 frail caress   
 to comb your brown hair   
 at the base of the neck   
 and cross with a gesture   
 the bottom of the universe .

 O my wife with sunken loins
 feigned witch   
 round dance   
 at the coronation of autumn   
 I smell you   
 and lose myself in the maze of your arms and legs.   

   
  533

   I roll up the prayer rug   
 out the dark night    
 no pretense   
 just the music of the old white sun   
 this lover with a fertilized spine.      
 I calm my ardor   
 without breaking the white egg   
 on the tracks of dogma   
 far from cerebral coding   
 otherwise few applicants.      
 I distinguish the subtle essences   
 in the midst of filthy thoughts   
 and turns the din into inner music.     
 Outside daily life   
 transformer point.    


  534

 Me dis que la parole poétique 
 c'est comme la mer   
 giboyeuse de rêves   
 et racleuse de mots   
 lorsqu'elle griffe la côte.      
 
 Et si c'est de nuit   
 que la foi chancelle   
 et qu'un vent froid brasse l'écume   
 les hurlements des marins en détresse   
 se font entendre dans les criques   
 chapelles ardentes des trépassés.      
 
 Rare et obstinée présence   
 de cette nécessité du poème   
 révélation quotidienne
 à ne pas manquer le rendez-vous   
 percée magique des mots de braise   
 dans l'âtre aux éructations aiguisées.      
 
 Je vous aime ma vie   
 d'humbles existences affublée   
 dentelles du jour
 que des mirlitons dévorent   
 telles les perles de verre   
 dans la lumière clignée du matin. 
 
 Ne vous affligez point   
 il est une poupée malmenée de l'enfance   
 abandonnée sur le trottoir   
 que le passant ramasse   
 lambeaux de tendresse écrue   
 transfigurant celui qui la regarde.      
 
 Les tambours de l'automne   
 ont rassemblé les murmures   
 et claque aux marches de l'univers   
 la vision stellaire   
 des officiants du cercle sacré
 que l'amitié révèle en échos.      
 
 Viens contre l'arbre   
 et le sais par avance   
 que la gerbe des flûtiaux courroucés   
 par la plainte insensée   
 construit le décor   
 de nos retrouvailles naines.      
 
 
  532

 Tu entrerais   
 en faisant tinter l'éolyre   
 et le ciel s'ouvrirait.     
  
 L'écureuil dans l'amandier   
 de branche en branche   
 évoluerait avec agilité.    
  
 Tu me donnerais des nouvelles   
 de là où tu es   
 pour que nos mains se joignent.    
  
 Je t'entendrais légère   
 gravir l'escalier   
 très haut jusqu'à l'aube.     
 
 Tu m'indiquerais le chemin   
 joys and sorrows   
 toi mon aimée.  
    
 Ton ombre aurait la tendresse   
 des matins de printemps   
 près du canal de notre rencontre.     
 
 Et si le soleil perce les nuages   
 il y aurait grand gazouillis   
 parmi les peupliers.    

  
  531

   Cette joie d'exister   
 d'affirmer   
 de faire naître   
 d'adapter   
 d'exprimer.      
 
 Cet acte par lequel   
 to exist   
 entre le terme et l'inertie   
 en intégrant les limites   
 le revers de l'existence. 
     
 L'existence donnée   
 une fois pour toute   
 sans nous prévaloir de la présence   
 est piètre chemin   
 et transformation de la joie en souvenir.      
 
 Notre situation ne cesse de changer   
 la présence est en rapport   
 avec les choses existantes   
 et qu'elle demeure à conquérir   
 irréductiblement.      


  529

 Je muir je muir   
 et ne puis retenir   
 les pleurs de la nuit   
 les nuages en leur course   
 le craquement des coquilles d'œufs   
 l'essence des choses   
 la couleur de l'enfance   
 le miel des estampes   
 le milieu entre deux excès   
 l'inaccompli de la perfection   
 la poigne du destin.     
 
 Me fait vivre   
 et retiens   
 la générosité de la joie   
 toute mesure à l'unisson   
 visant l'utile   
 par un effort constant   
 par dedans et dehors   
 être ad libitum   
 le plein et le délié   
 l'ambre des mers du nord   
 et le corail des mers du sud
 chair de nos cœurs.         
 

  530