The parade was coming down the hill
Fife in the lead
Then drums and trumpets
To end with the bugles and the helicon.      
 
The black wind of winter
Blew ankle-twisting
On the clods of grass   
Arranged there for centuries.      
 
Au loin le canon incessant   
Faisait vibrer les frênes   
Caquetant de leurs branches    
Telles baguettes devant le bol de riz.      
 
Shapes lined up
At the foot of the buildings
In packs of five
sized the pits.      
 
No useless items
On the beach
Just the emasculated body
Of the vibrant poet.      
 
I couldn't tell her that I loved her
The woman from the banks of the Seine
Hand in hand to Les Tournelles
Near the torture cage.      
 
The century was two years old
Exactly sixty two
And we were dancing at the Slow Club
Late at night.      
 
The missiles whistled out of the cellars
And the armful of fire bit the sky
Of a red and yellow blister
Without the blue of the soul appearing.      
 
Ce soir je caresserai Grand Chat   
Jusqu'à l'épuisement   
A même le sable noir de la plage   
Griffée par les vaguelettes de la mer.      
 
Tout est rassemblé   
Pour ceux qui subissent l'outrage   
De demeurer le visage impavide    
A la lueur des torches de Carnaval.      
 
I had believed that freedom
Would emerge at the entrance of the theater   
Et bien m'en a pris de prendre mon envol   
Vers la pleine lune du cycle des contemplations.   
 
The dust of fragmentation fell deadly
By bursting the eardrums of grandmothers
While the children sought protection
Between women's legs.      
 
Stop thinking the earth is round
Nor that the sun will return
In the smoking ruins
Just the passage of stray dogs.      
 
Il suffirait d'une pression de l'index   
Pour que la tête éclate   
Contre le mur de briques   
Du monastère honni.     
 
Illusions would bicker
Truth would be gripped by horror
There would be blood on the steps
Going down to the Potemkin.      
 
And then nothing
Yes ! A little light between the fingers
With a hand auguring the conflagration
Of a dream for tomorrows that sing.      
 
The sky was smiling
Toothless, and i ran away
Without a family
In all sadness, of the school in rue Rouelle.      
 
There was Peter, Nad   
Et puis Hug et Julie   
Et j'ai pris mon chapeau   
Pour me carapater dès l'aube.      
 
One would push the subject to the inner world
Introversion   
The other to the outside world
Extroversion.      
 
And it would be nice like that.       
 
 
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