Poem
Claude Royet-Journoud
A CLEAR SENSE
dazzlefaced with the nature of the crime
a simulacrum depletes the soil
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Having chosen the angle, photographs the muscle.
The image comes down. We’re outside. Submitting
and fallen. The voice holds the back up. An
irremediable geographical confusion. She does
not realize how close to her this world is. She only
knows she treads over a dark viscous terror. A list of
infinitives prolongs the accident.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
on the floor
alphabet with ancestor
is it a lake
this free-lance eye ?
the body slips in there
from a word to demolish
constrains the beast
to shift about and about
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
the numeral is to the left of the construction
they loom up
in restless movement
for space they have lightness
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
repetition is moving back
from the visible brink
the voice conceals
a state of weightlessness
she cannot interrupt its flight
around this stain
the day of the numeral, of the strangulation
the wrist burns the old way
name poised on the lips
they come together
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“A language they have not thought in.” A childhood
quenched in the ruckus. She no longer improvises.
(No offering, hardly a stir.) She situates the knife-
edge, unsteadies the wound. The center of the
room a cloth of linen. He locks in loss, forces child-
hood down and bears the image to its term. Framed
stealthily, the landscape merges with the eye.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like an unappeasable rage. Each blow reinvigorates
him. The fall gauges the distance gone. Fragility of
a sense “containing four simple bodies.” Without
recognizing them, she takes up with them again.
Only the numeral resists. Sends her back to her
mine.
© Translation: 2006, Keith Waldrop
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris, 2006
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris, 2006
UN SENS CLAIR
UN SENS CLAIR
l'éblouissementface à la nature du crime
un simulacre épuise le sol
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Après avoir choisi l'angle, une photographie du
muscle. L'image descend. On est en dehors. Dans la
soumission et la chute. La voix tient le dos.
Un désarroi géographique, sans recours. Elle ignore
la proximité de ce monde. Elle ne connaît que le
soubassement d'une terreur liquide et noire. Une
liste d'infinitifs prolonge l'accident.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
sur le plancher
l'alphabet de l'ancêtre
est-ce un lac
cette disponibilité de l’œil ?
le corps se glisse là
d'un mot à abattre
il force la bête
à continûment se déplacer
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
le chiffre est à gauche de la construction
ils surgissent
dans l'inquiétude du mouvement
ils ont la légèreté pour espace
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
la répétition est déplacement
du bord invisible
la voix dissimule
un état d'apesanteur
elle ne saurait interrompre son trajet
autour de cette tache
le jour du chiffre, de l'étranglement
le poignet brûle l'ancienne manière
lèvres posées sur le nom
ils s'ajointent
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
« Un langage dans lequel ils n'ont pas pensé. »
Une enfance éteinte dans le bruit. Elle n'improvise
plus. (Nulle offrande, à peine un mouvement.) Elle
situe le tranchant, fait vaciller la plaie. Le centre de la
pièce est un linge. Il se ferme sur la perte, pousse
l'enfance vers le bas et porte à son terme l'image.
Dans l'encadrement furtif, le paysage se confond avec
l’œil.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
C'est comme une rage que rien n'apaise. Chaque
coup renforce sa vigueur. La chute donne la mesure
du pas. La fragilité d'un sens « qui renferme quatre
corps simples ». Sans les reconnaître, elle renoue avec
eux. Seul le chiffre résiste. Il la rend à son exploitation
minière.
© 2007, Claude Royet-Journoud
From: Théorie des prépositions
Publisher: P.O.L, Paris
From: Théorie des prépositions
Publisher: P.O.L, Paris
Poems
Poems of Claude Royet-Journoud
Close
A CLEAR SENSE
dazzlefaced with the nature of the crime
a simulacrum depletes the soil
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Having chosen the angle, photographs the muscle.
The image comes down. We’re outside. Submitting
and fallen. The voice holds the back up. An
irremediable geographical confusion. She does
not realize how close to her this world is. She only
knows she treads over a dark viscous terror. A list of
infinitives prolongs the accident.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
on the floor
alphabet with ancestor
is it a lake
this free-lance eye ?
the body slips in there
from a word to demolish
constrains the beast
to shift about and about
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
the numeral is to the left of the construction
they loom up
in restless movement
for space they have lightness
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
repetition is moving back
from the visible brink
the voice conceals
a state of weightlessness
she cannot interrupt its flight
around this stain
the day of the numeral, of the strangulation
the wrist burns the old way
name poised on the lips
they come together
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“A language they have not thought in.” A childhood
quenched in the ruckus. She no longer improvises.
(No offering, hardly a stir.) She situates the knife-
edge, unsteadies the wound. The center of the
room a cloth of linen. He locks in loss, forces child-
hood down and bears the image to its term. Framed
stealthily, the landscape merges with the eye.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like an unappeasable rage. Each blow reinvigorates
him. The fall gauges the distance gone. Fragility of
a sense “containing four simple bodies.” Without
recognizing them, she takes up with them again.
Only the numeral resists. Sends her back to her
mine.
© 2006, Keith Waldrop
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: 2006, La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: 2006, La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris
A CLEAR SENSE
dazzlefaced with the nature of the crime
a simulacrum depletes the soil
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Having chosen the angle, photographs the muscle.
The image comes down. We’re outside. Submitting
and fallen. The voice holds the back up. An
irremediable geographical confusion. She does
not realize how close to her this world is. She only
knows she treads over a dark viscous terror. A list of
infinitives prolongs the accident.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
on the floor
alphabet with ancestor
is it a lake
this free-lance eye ?
the body slips in there
from a word to demolish
constrains the beast
to shift about and about
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
the numeral is to the left of the construction
they loom up
in restless movement
for space they have lightness
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
repetition is moving back
from the visible brink
the voice conceals
a state of weightlessness
she cannot interrupt its flight
around this stain
the day of the numeral, of the strangulation
the wrist burns the old way
name poised on the lips
they come together
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
“A language they have not thought in.” A childhood
quenched in the ruckus. She no longer improvises.
(No offering, hardly a stir.) She situates the knife-
edge, unsteadies the wound. The center of the
room a cloth of linen. He locks in loss, forces child-
hood down and bears the image to its term. Framed
stealthily, the landscape merges with the eye.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Like an unappeasable rage. Each blow reinvigorates
him. The fall gauges the distance gone. Fragility of
a sense “containing four simple bodies.” Without
recognizing them, she takes up with them again.
Only the numeral resists. Sends her back to her
mine.
© 2006, Keith Waldrop
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: 2006, La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris
From: Theory of Prepositions
Publisher: 2006, La Presse/Fence Books, Iowa City & Paris
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