Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

May 03, 2004

canto vii.

There’s a bitter skin around it,
the sweet truth we crave, the noble way,
a burning thing we can delight
         to hold and not let go.
There is still, though,
the impenetrable skin
that makes you crawl, recede
towards death already,
though your hair and face are soft,
dreamlike, and craving.
Mais du moins, je tenais cette vérité
autant qu’elle me tenant.

         Go inside now; that rind
         surrounds the real of each of us.
Vidé d’espoir, devant cette nuit chargée
de signes et des étoiles,
je m’ouvrais pour la premiere fois
         à la tendre indifférence du monde;

the sunflower, withered and dead
on the front porch, is revolting:
the paradox of reasoning through

The French, c'est Camus.

Posted by Delire at May 3, 2004 11:58 AM
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