Hélène

Mar. 22nd, 2007 05:56 pm
teaberryblue: (santi)
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

For my Aunt Hélène, d. 3-21-07. )

Hélène

Mar. 22nd, 2007 05:56 pm
teaberryblue: (santi)
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

For my Aunt Hélène, d. 3-21-07. )

Hélène

Mar. 22nd, 2007 05:56 pm
teaberryblue: (santi)
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

For my Aunt Hélène, d. 3-21-07. )

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