Memories are hunting horns whose sound dies on the wind.
A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.
Come to the edge. We might fall. Come to the edge. It's too high! COME TO THE EDGE! And they came And he pushed And they flew.
O mouths humanity seeks a new language Beyond the reach of grammarians.
And now comes the summer of violence And my youth is as dead as the springtime O Sun it is the time of fiery Reason.
We mean to explore kindness and its enormous silences.
You see before you a man in his right mind Worldly-wise and with access to death Having tested the sorrow of love and its ecstasies Having sometimes even astonished the professors Good with languages Having travelled a great deal Having seen battle in the Artillery and the Infantry Wounded in the head trepanned under chloroform Having lost my best friends in the butchery As much of antiquity and modernity as can be known I know
We hurry since everything hurries And I shall never not return Memories are all archaic horns Silenced by the wind.
I used to walk by the river An old book under my arm The river is the same as pain It elapses mindlessly And when will the week be over
One day One day I waited for myself I said to myself Guillaume it's time you came So I could know just who I am I who know others
And the single string of the marine trumpets.
And for your eyes my life takes poison slowly.
I've made a song for the poorly loved And songs for everything I grieved For unaccompanied slave and shark, For queens who've gone into the dark.
Farewell, false love, I took you for The woman that I lost last year Forever as I think: I loved her but I will not see Her any more in Germany. O Milky Way, sister in whiteness To Canaan's rivers and the bright Bodies of lovers drowned, Can we follow toilsomely Your path to other nebulae?
Nor days nor any time detain. Time past or any love Cannot come again.