Every means of communication what is call languages are mysteries
I am a foreigner in an insulated capsule
I taste. I explore. I take samples to try and break loneliness
I'm learning. Maybe, one day, I will be truely able to write and talk.

mardi 22 décembre 2009


These predictable exchanges
we pass on thin winds
Are we talking
or faming ourselves ?
Where's the gust !

You don't know me -
cause itself :
Take my hand, grip
it is malleable.
I'll come. Always at the ready
On the brink of becoming...

You're a black man in Philadelphia
I an orphan shaping poems in Paris.
There we say : ça va ? Bien, et toi ?,
leave it at that.
Like two dogs lifting hind legs
at the hydrant.

Here it sounds : How's it goin man ?
it goes like this :

...each time our children's hands
...ripped to paper ribbons
...snag of the thornbush
...forbidding them fruits of desire
...I stop cold on the boulevard
...un-curl palms scarred and cannot heal.

I am a civilized man
Thus told - to hold my tongue
How absurd. I prefer to hold yours
...Like a shell pressed to my ear
...Resonance of inner cosmos
...Rings from within
...Harmonic convergence
...We want everything.

We must stop lamenting the rain,
Shrinking from heat, humid days
Weather is so much tide
Ocean of air from which we swim.
Direct me to the nearest galaxy.
Shall we summon a boat?

What's happening ? Ask me, again.
No. Yes. Yes ask me !
...You are to me, alchemy
...Look : space between us
...charged with protons of love
...passion particles osmosing the boundaries
...of the vacuum
We are about love
when we choose to be.

Bullets, blades, booby traps
sprung by the masters
parasites embalmed in pale faces
bank vault visions myopic chill light
Hermectic madness.
...C'mon Orpheus
...Play-me your opus
...I wil empty my head
...like a tulip in April.
...We shall build the cult of imagination

You don't know me
but I hear your howls
from the death camps.
Migrating birds pass the news.
I wrench requiem from my sleep
brood in the mirror of morning cafe
spittle drops on counter tops
unhinge doors to corridors
days in discord
Arrested in motion on a bridge deck
hammered stone, cold steel rivets
to the base of my skull.

you don't know me
I've been writing to you for years
and crystal clear moments
I sing your song in the darkness
the migrating bird my witness.
...How you be ?
...Go on - tell me
...Tell me more.
...So much more.


samedi 14 novembre 2009

When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be (John Keats)

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power

Of unreflecting love!--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.

John Keats

jeudi 8 octobre 2009


So, on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another
Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence.


Tales of a Wayside Inn

mercredi 16 septembre 2009

To a child dancing in the wind ( YEATS)

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water's roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool's triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind!


vendredi 31 juillet 2009

I felt a funeral, in my brain ( Emily DICKINSON)

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead,
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

And then a plank in reason, broke,
And I dropped down and down--
And hit a world at every plunge,
And finished knowing--then--

Emily DICKINSON (1830-1886)

samedi 27 juin 2009

Blowin' in the wind (Bob Dylan)

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.


dimanche 21 juin 2009

The butcher (Leonard Cohen)

I came upon a butcher,
He was slaughtering a lamb,
I accused him there
With his tortured lamb.
He said, listen to me, child,
I am what I am and you, you are my only son.

Well, I found a silver needle,
I put it into my arm.
It did some good,
Did some harm.
But the nights were cold
And it almost kept me warm,
How come the night is long?

I saw some flowers growing up
Where that lamb fell down;
Was I supposed to praise my lord,
Make some kind of joyful sound?
He said, listen, listen to me now,
I go round and round
And you, you are my only child.

Do not leave me now,
Do not leave me now,
Im broken down
From a recent fall.
Blood upon my body
And ice upon my soul,
Lead on, my son, it is your world.

samedi 30 mai 2009



Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

samedi 25 avril 2009

The sound of silence (Simon and Garfunkel)

Hello, darkness my old friend

I've come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seeds while I was sleeping

And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams i walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone,

'Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night

And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools," said I, "You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows.

Hear my words that I might teach you,

Take my arms that I might reach you."

But my words like silent raindrops fell,

And echoed

In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed

To the neon god they made

And the sign flashed out a warning,

In the words that it was forming.

And the signs said the words of the prophets

Are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls.

And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.

mercredi 4 mars 2009

Alien influences

Dark shapes approached. Justin let his hood down and pocket his sunglasses. The creatures weren't walking, althought they were upright. They almost glided along the hard-packed sand and had long, twig-thin bodies with shiny black skin, two legs, two arms and wide, oblong heads with large silver eyes. It was easy to see why the colonists had called them dancers : they moved with fluid grace, as if they made every step in time to a music that Justin couldn't hear.

The children were unsupervised except for occasional school days, when workers could be spared to teach. No one watched the children so the children went off to watch the dancers.

Do you want to be an adult, Beth ?

Not anymore.

by Kristine Kathryn RUSCH