#poetry in translation

Each wave is the water one is man green and leaves go together wings and the air the rivers are this River and the ark

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In us, the world gives itself time to finish. And still, on the page it would like to be reborn. It keeps a semblance of future:...

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She wants to speak, but I feel what she is. She finds death love even if everything without love, is an offence to her.

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And this business of writing. I see by mirrors, in darkness. I sense a place known to no one but me. I sing of distances,

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Oh the hellish colour of my passions. Nevertheless, I remained a prisoner of the old tenderness.

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Night blindly mine. Dream of the body transparent like a glass tree. The horror of searching for your eyes in the space full

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From my desolate breathing I say: let there be language where there should be silence.

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Somebody is not enunciated. Somebody cannot attend herself. And you refused to acknowledge me when I told you what in me

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Zone of perpetual vision. I crossed in a mysterious moan.

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Things yellowed before my eyes just back from an autumn dream.

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Love draws on my eyes the desired body like a knife thrower tattooing on the wall with fear and skill the still nakedness

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who lost me in the ghostly silence of words

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A café full of empty chairs, lit up to the point of exasperation, the night in the shape of absence, the sky as if made

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This spectral texture of darkness, this melody in the bones, this breath from diverse silences, this going down beneath ground,...

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If only I could always live in ecstasy, making the body of the poem with my body, rescuing every phrase with my days and weeks,...

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I write against fear. Against the clawed wind dwelling on my breath.

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I am a new rose. My redness, wild hallucinations–

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in your perfect fingers I am the light

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love isn’t inside bodies: bodies only tell the love.

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I am your voice, the fever of your breathing, I am the reflection of your face.

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… the soul was silent at the edge of sound

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Only you and I, Only you and I, my love, Listen to me.

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I speak with eyes closed. Someone has planted a forest of magnetic needles in my eyelids, someone guides the thread

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I write with eyes shut, I write with eyes open: let the wall collapse, let the wall turn river.

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