teaberryblue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
teaberryblue) wrote2007-03-22 05:56 pm
teaberryblue) wrote2007-03-22 05:56 pm
Entry tags:
Hélène
How beautiful you are now that you no longer exist
Dust of death has taken you off even your soul
How much after you do they lust, since we vanished
Waters waters are filling up the desert's heart
The palest of women
It is sunny on the water crests of the earth
Of the landscape starved to death
Lining with cross purposes the city of yesteryear
It is sunny on the unexpected green cirques
Converted into churches
It is sunny on the disastrous plateau bared and turned over
Because you are so dead
Pouring suns through the traces of your eyes
And the shadows of high trees rooted
Into the terrible Hair the ones that were turning me frenzy
--Pierre Jean Jouve
I haven't seen her in some years, but I remember staying at her house and I remember the screen in front of her fireplace. I remember her saving Legos for me to play with as a child, and I remember her basement, the vase of flowers in her foyer. She was my grandmother's sister & part of a family that will always be part mystery to me.
Mostly, she was always kind to my father.
There are other stories that don't really lend themselves to being repeated here.
I am wondering if his brothers and sister will come to the funeral. He was saying the other day that he planned to make sure his siblings all met up sometime in the next year. Just this weekend. I jokingly asked who would die to make that happen.
She lived a long life. She was always happy, all the times I saw her. She was always kind. If there is a life after this one, whatever it may be, she will find joy and peace there as she tried to make joy and peace in this one.
Dust of death has taken you off even your soul
How much after you do they lust, since we vanished
Waters waters are filling up the desert's heart
The palest of women
It is sunny on the water crests of the earth
Of the landscape starved to death
Lining with cross purposes the city of yesteryear
It is sunny on the unexpected green cirques
Converted into churches
It is sunny on the disastrous plateau bared and turned over
Because you are so dead
Pouring suns through the traces of your eyes
And the shadows of high trees rooted
Into the terrible Hair the ones that were turning me frenzy
--Pierre Jean Jouve
I haven't seen her in some years, but I remember staying at her house and I remember the screen in front of her fireplace. I remember her saving Legos for me to play with as a child, and I remember her basement, the vase of flowers in her foyer. She was my grandmother's sister & part of a family that will always be part mystery to me.
Mostly, she was always kind to my father.
There are other stories that don't really lend themselves to being repeated here.
I am wondering if his brothers and sister will come to the funeral. He was saying the other day that he planned to make sure his siblings all met up sometime in the next year. Just this weekend. I jokingly asked who would die to make that happen.
She lived a long life. She was always happy, all the times I saw her. She was always kind. If there is a life after this one, whatever it may be, she will find joy and peace there as she tried to make joy and peace in this one.