Sunday, August 19, 2012

'. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . O miroir!

Eau froide par l'ennui dans ton cadre gelee
Que de fois et pendant les heures, desolee
Des songes et cherchant mes souvenirs qui sont
Comme des fueilles sous ta glace au trou profond,
Je m'apparus en toi comme une ombe lointaine,
Mais, horreur! des soirs, dans ta severe fontaine,
J'ai de mon reve epars connu la nudite'

"...Refining upon thoughts that were already subtle enough, grafting Byzantine niceties on them, perpetuating them in deductions that were barely hinted at and loosely linked by an imperceptible thread.
These precious, interwoven ideas he knotted together with an adhesive style, a unique, hermetic language full of contracted phrases, elliptical constructions, audacious tropes.
Sensitive to the remotest affinities,  he would often use a term that by analogy suggested at once form, scent, colour, quality, brilliance, to indicate a creature or thing to which he would have had to attach a host of different epithets in order to bring out all its various aspects and qualities, if it had merely been referred to by its technical name. By this means he managed to do away with the formal statement of a comparison that the reader's mind made by itself as soon as it had understood the symbol, and avoided dispersing the reader's attention over all the several qualities that a row of adjectives would have presented one by one, concentrating it instead on a single word, a single entity, producing, as in the case of a picture, a unique and comprehensive impression, an overall view."

'Alors m'eveillerai-je a la ferveur premiere,
Droit et seul sous un flot antique de lumiere,
Lys! et l'un vous tous pour l'ingenuite.'

1 comment:

Millineries said...

'. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Oh Mirror!
Cold water frozen by boredom within your frame, how many times for hours on end, saddened by dreams and searching for my memories, which are like dead leaves in the deep hole beneath your glassy surface, have I seen myself in you as a distant ghost. But oh horror, on certain evenings, in your cruel pool, I have recognized the bareness of my disordered dream.'

. . . . .


'I awake to the original fervor, upright and alone in an ancient flood of light, lilies! and one of you for innocence.'