Un puits sans …
Organes à vif
Cœur saignant
J’ai ouï dire que le vent est
Aussi suis-je sorti de ma verte campagne
À ne pas me plaindre
Ni être contrit par le dérangement
Juste en haleine
De l’autre côté de moi
De cette aube promise
Quand le chemin sort du bois
Puis y revient
Comme la veille
Sans l’ombre d’un doute
Au creux des épreuves
Que le hasard distribue
Sans que l’on me hèle
De la porte aux trous de vers
Ceinte de l’aumônière
Au puits sans …

1571

Singular scent
Du mirliton des occasions
En perpétuelle immobilité
La mort à petit feu
S’est éprise de l’ouvrage.

Exercice en mouvement
Barre fixe de vague en vague
Il eût été possible de neutraliser les forces disponibles
Pour dédoublement nécessaire
Inscrire l’instant épique.

Accomplissement polarisé
En mutuelle contemplation
L’ordre d’arrivée n’étant pas de mise
Nous pûmes recueillir sous l’égide du cœur 
La puissance d’être à deux.

Débarrassées des scories
Purifiées et allégées
Les âmes-sœurs se sont jointes
Comme mars en carême
Aspirées par la diastole du couronnement.

Autour de nous
Within reach
Le besoin d’un clignement d’yeux
Tout droit sorti du fermoir damassé
Permet de passer d’une réalité à l’autre.

Le Verbe vibre
Force de la parole juste
Éveil des délicats mécanismes intérieurs
Moyen nous fût donné en gratitude d’être
D’extraire le noyau de sa gangue.

( Work by Jean-Claude Guerrero )

1570

Te voilà
Étamine épelée
Aux lieux modifiés
De toute éternité
Sous les bois de la loi.

Passent les années
D’eaux sculptées
À la belle saison
Pour retour à la maison
Ne rien laisser paraître.

Sagacité feinte
De l’actuel au virtuel
À brasser le néant
Faire surgir aisément
Les linéaments du silence.

Saluer l’offre et la lumière
Économise l’entregent de la misère
Recroquevillé comme sabot de Vénus
Autour des lèvres
Surjouées de mousse fraîche.

Pile à l’aplomb
Au débotté d’un foisonnement de mots
Les fourmis de l’à-propos
Ont guigné les pans de l’esprit
D’un matin de chants d’oiseaux.

Les feuilles tomberont à l’automne
Dénouant le plein emploi de nos peines
Alors qu’invisible
La brise marine aux ailes d’elfes
Ira se déployant jusqu’aux nues.


1569

Cornes pointées de fer
Elles tournent leurs redoutables têtes
Herbes enchantées pour couronnes
Qu’elles pendent aux esses inconcevables
En disant transformer le monde.

Elles lui prennent la main
L’Étranger à la voix douce
Lui demandant de l’aide
En lui disant que ce n’est pas l’ignorance qui les trompe
C’est l’amour.

Elles ressemblent à de grandes chauves-souris
Aux ailes de vaisseaux chylifères
Elles frappent le sol de leurs pieds griffus
Lieu de gémissements fumants
Elles roulent et leurs poitrines résonnent.

Entrailles de terre fécondée
Elles surgissent sur la plaine
Et accouchent
Venin vigoureux elles croassent
De leurs fines dents de diamant.

Le roi s’est assis au milieu d’elles
Alors elles soufflent le feu
Formidable brasier
Aspergé d’eau
Par le rire de l’Oiseau.

Elles ont chassé les étoiles palpitantes
Brandi le sceptre d’ivoire
Pour taureaux aux pieds de bronze
Envahir de leurs cris
Les poils pendants qu’elles caressent.

Elles sont suivies d’autres et puis d’autres
Aux bras rouges de sang
Jusqu’à se confondre avec l’horizon
Elles peuvent en manger
De l’homme.

En haut du tertre
Narines dures
Elles brûlent et détachent de leurs ceintures
Les pans de soie
De leur accouplement d'être.

Les lances aux bouts pointus
Ont atteint leurs cibles
Pour étonnamment gonfler de courage
L’arc-en-ciel des merveilles
D’une brassée de fusils.


1568

Œil de terre
À l’iris végétal
Vous étiez trois dromadaires
À portée de regard
Broutant quelques touffes d’herbes sèches
Au milieu de la caillasse.

Ni ange ni séraphin
Ne chantait dans l’orbe minéral
Le silence exhalait un fumet lourd et sanguin
La lumière plaquait la chaleur
Au ras du sol
Vibrante comme frisure mouillée.


1567

Trace rouge m’amuse
On the garden wall
Such small insects
Without hurrying
Within reach
Under the veranda
Blooming wisteria
De lichen lichen
Oiled bagpipes
Casting its pearl oyster sound
Lap of tenderness
Like the smile
Trace of passage on earth.

1566

The living thing stretched out at length
In the arcana my sisters
Outraging good morals
Joined Malaucène
The kinky of the starving.

In Gaspésie poetry was invited
Arguing that emptiness is empty
That color is forbidden
In these lands where art line by line
Darde brushes and knives.

Fuliginous passage
Between the bodies
The monks' cross
Hem of a serene pileup
The morning break-in.

Puaitier in his spare time
Venerable old man sitting on the edge
He had forced the wild geese
To be obliging
To hover over the calligram.

Heals my heart
On the rejection of philosophy
Calm radiance pose
On the stone of penalties
With stretched line spacing.

The day begins
Rabbits come out of the thickets
The shrew winks its snout
A faint light rises on the horizon
It's time to get to work.

( Work by Jean-Claude Guerrero )

1565

Fustel de Coulanges was right 
To crush with a heel
The last butt in the Allée des Minimes.

Was,
Dappled the fruits of waiting
The procession of the wanderers
Mixing with all comers
The child's smile
In memory of the war
This bitch revealed
By cheers of joy after victory
Crossing plains and valleys
Far far far away
Boat people from the day before.

Primal joy
Jumping over the river
To cut up time
Flirty sentences
With iridescent eyes
With the yellow and rectangular pupil
Coming out of the shadows
Like the groans of sealed wagons
In the middle of the road
Skimming the premises of the life to come
By jerky jets of steam
From clearing to clearing
Herbs scorched by sparks from the machine
Arching one last time
Their bald tufts
Right on the shaggy gurgling of the wheels on the rail.

There were thousands of them
Those denied freedom
To participate in the coronation of heartbreak
Daily bread of an alveolar pulsation
Suitable for collecting in the infusion of the limbs
The masked part of singular spasms
Of the propitiatory sign of the cruel evidence.

It will be time
To unseal the stone
To reach the broken glass of glasses
Abandoned by bad wind
At the bend of a road
Leading to the two trees of suffering 
Mixing trunks and branches
Through the narrow skylight
Proposing with a clumsy hand
The crumpled papers of oblivion
Dry stone borie
Arranged upright in front of the gap of silence.

Days follow days
The rescued child stretches his cheek
To the rough of a man's hand
Ready for the big jump
Having to open your heart
Without seeing or hearing
What's going on at the postern
Like sudden rain
On bare skin with tense hairs.

At the crossroads
He stopped
Taking care of your feet
Blistered glue to shoe leather
Offered at random
A welcome rest
The bumblebee embedded in a rock hole.

Why these changes of direction
Why discord stifled
Having deviated
Having denied
The share of those involved
To join the other convoy
Take wife and children
Build house
Blacken the hearth
Make the rooster crow in the yard
Until the end
For destruction occurring
Build again
The eternal vision
Until nobility comes
Loaded with old wounds
To deposit
Key on brocade cushion
At the entrance to the cloister of otherness
Unbelievable promise
Inaugurated the day before
Under the linden tree rustling with rare bees.

Stay there
Cultivate the medicinal plant
Then seated in the designated stall
Mix words and thoughts
To the sudden awakening of the soul
Under the high dome
From the altar to the seven ears of wheat.

On the edge
Where the hunters lie down
The remains remained
Of bones and rags in shreds 
Against the base of the hanged man's cross.

Good men let us rise
Let's reach the murmuring stream
On the banks of lush grass
To plant the teepees
Topped with goatskin
Mark who will know about the Alliance
To be the ultimate singer of the voices of our ancestors
Straight Shooting Stars
In the alley of outrages
Removing dead wood
On either side of the track
Without tripping over the root
To remove accumulated brush
Last passage of the herd
Idle, scraping the stones from the draille
Without clouds getting involved
In the numinous sky
Crossed from side to side
From sunrise to sunset
By the presence of megaliths
Hidden under the graying of larks
Sowing fine wicker kisses
The oiled air of contemplation.

1564

Walk and be silent
Towards the sea
Last hill covered
Towards the wood of laws
Where to gather in living faith
Under the branches of the oaks.

Enter the stage
Palpable mystery
This invisible thing
Who makes us go
Towards the tips and tricks 
Of reconsideration.

Are fading
The last shadows
Early in the morning
While the cicadas sing
Encephalographic spasm
To warm the stomach.

Whisper the sweat
Remove makeup from wisps
Through the tall grass
With a whistling sound
Reassuring tinnitus
Like lively ears to the coming wind.

On the ground
Feet refuse to move forward
Heart in turmoil
Make a final call
To the tortured rocks
From entering the place.

Listen to the silence
With slow vibrations
Near the thorn trees by the side of the path
Where worries and fricasse
L’attention fine
Prelude to the opening of the caves.

Fine bite
Full-throated
The sneaker scrapes the stone
Near the mound
Where to gather the tools of waiting
Before the emerging dawn.

The great crossing
Made of shards of life and brokenness
Look at our humanity
Thinking of reporting
Love and freedom
At the crossroads of eyes.

Fresh moose
A body that never stops functioning
Muted sensations and movements
For the benefit of the sensory experience
Infinitely simplified
Like an open letter at the point of a knife.

Brief
They shared
Session intranquille
Zafu sitting
The scriptural word
Meditated, soothed, exhaled.

The ellipsis
Reconverted in silence
Pass nutmeg
Remonstrances absolved
Where everything is there
Beyond the unspeakable.

Accept the bend of time
Climb without return
Run on the ridge
Eliminate the fear of heights
Featured one by two 
A burst of emotion facing the old ocean.

1563

My father played the trumpet
Under the tree of memories
Inoculating the child
The offer to jump in with both feet
In the big puddle
According to the storm
On the dirt road.

Concrete is the quest
To go looking for demons
The metaphor of melancholy
Before going from room to room
Absurd stories
In the vase of suspicions
Without a shadow of regret.

The body is fragile in structure
The flower is bright
Token slipped into the slot
Let's inaugurate the right place
Adorned with passing mists
Where to drop off bag
Thinking of you.

Move the jug from my throat
Press some medicinal plant on my neck
Be quiet
Just surrounded by insects
To make a sound
The sound of permitted existence
To the cruciverbist with arms outstretched.

Shaken with spasms
The belly was revealed
Puffed scar
Coming out of the cave
Lively and proud
The Queen carrying in her
His own accomplishment.

Decision made
Captured by desire
He lay down in the ripe wheat
On the woman with the overturned bike
Peak Intuition
To take history backwards 
At this entry into war.

The coffee tasted good
On the station terrace
Watching the trains go by
No more than ten minutes of course
Flowing
Without too many details to provide
Between the heart and the lungs of discord.

The squinting of the eyes
Bring the trees closer to the rock
Protuberance of the vernacular ring
Everyday words
Put in parentheses
On the side of a cup
Cradle of a rag doll.

The gaping faults and crevices
Secret wounds of the movements of the earth
Opened up at the zenith
At high noon
Bare feet in wet sand
Begging for room and board
After wandering along the cliff.

At the table despite everything
Looking good
The years have passed
Chance sprinkled with icing sugar
The back of the hand
Slipped into the gaping ghoul
From the Grande Vivrière.

Pubic flowers
Grown there with so little humus
We joined calmly
The story to tell
When paid plane tickets
Coming home
Scheduled wedding.

emaciated
On the hulling area
We have made a clear space
To slip the eye into the hole
To the only concern 
To make it clear
The sound of the trumpet.


1562