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Matthew Paris
 

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Post Thu Jan 29, 2004 12:46 pm - Babble
French



Baudelaire

To The Reader

In tired lovers chewing breasts and thighs
In neural demons waltzing through the brain
In dirty unseen streams of sighs
Falling with a hiss beyond your breathy pain
That pride of evil, the magic demon
Who smokes endlessly like a chemist
Whispering, pours atomic semen
In the New Man: a Scientist.
There's nothing worse in the hookah
Than hashish, or that bored look
You, inane and ghostly window looker
Hypocrite in shattered glass who reads this book.


The Erotic Muse

During the snowy days. the bored nights
Violet heeled, you raise your bloody chalices
To toast the winter storms, the amber lights.
Most intimate muse, amant of palaces.
Can you resurrect his marble shoulders
Harvest love or gold from turquoise vaults?
In harems carved from sandstone boulders
Can your eyebeams piece the rosy faults
In this stone world? Muse, get a dunce's job.
Be a damned choir boys swinging caged perfumes.
Smile, idiot, for that communal slob
Humanity, when toying with footmen, grooms
And stableboys. Be wild and treacherous as Eve.


Ghostly Sorrow

When you sleep, my lovely shadow
Beneath your marble blanket in the appalling
Grave in the meadow
Where steely nails keep the rain from falling
From clouds below grasses to your powdering hips
Jesus- your white thighs with their charming nonchalance
To call those Latin voyages, or trips
From earth to other circumstance
Love, a grave is icon or the prophetís doubt.
A tomb waits at the artistic core.
It cackles, "Idiot, your beauty wanes
You incredible bitch, you fucking whore
Death is truth; your corpse is forever; shout
If you can; my night worms chew your brains."


The Diseased Muse

Pluto, old pal, whatís on this morning?
Are your empty eyes bloodshot with nightly visions?
Wait, I see noon in your forehead, fawning
Upon ugly Maenads with icy hot elisions.
Did the rosy gnomes, the green succubus
Spew fear and young love on the Earth, your grave?
Dys, on nightmarish sees, could with ivory pus
You were at the bottom like a wave.
Pluto, though old, you exhale the smell of youth.
Philosophy and death, incestuous, are lovers
But pagan gods. Hellish, pour out truth
In dumb sweet song, hymns that madden others.
You violate like Pan, the goodish one
While jejune shepherds sleep with flowers in the sun.

A Change Of Air


The dawn, the purple and white light
Illuminate the Bast, the meadows where
The Poet wakes, the sottish acolyte.
Brutes become Gods in this nightmare.
In that milky light the drunks shake
Their heads. One unzips his fly, pisses
Out golden storms for the sake
of his soul, over inaccessible abysses.
In the garbage, hobos from the dregs
Of night have a memory of transparent roses.
Hell, heaven, the stupid orgy in the hall.
Last night. God haunted him with scabby legs
Now. sot, awake; you must run-
Mute, idiot soul, to your devouring sun.



Tasso

The poet in his cell puts down his book
Kicks his epic with a nervous foot
While terror inflames his heart. His infinite look
Glares below his window at the realm of soot.
He grips the bars, guardians of the air
He loosens his grasp on these cold thick pinions
Once these bonds would stop that quiet stare-
Laughter permeates his cell. His minions
As in a dream, in the holy war for truth
Iced phantoms, chant their dim forlorn canticles
Saracens who curse the slim seraphic youth
This dreamer gilt in music's inner madrigals
Sees Jerusalem- hears sonorous, vague calls
The Celestial City, towering between his four walls.



Strange Perfume

When your two eyes closed one Autumn night
I inhaled the milky odors in your thighs.
These fragrant waves, like spumy spray turned white
Mirrored alabaster fires in monotonous skies.

Under the green tamarind's perfume
I can scent shard fruits beyond these putrid words.
I smell the ships, the tropic bride and groom
Weddings in flamingo ports- like brilliant birds.


The Parallels

Nature is a temple whose animate books
Serve tall grails. Smaller chalices, stool thimbles.
Parsifal, who passes through forests of symbols,
Sips bloody wine. They observe him with the same strange looks.
Their long echoes wrought of milkís unshakable bond,
Dead Christ's deep somnambulistic unity.
Permeate the vast nights, kiss the mirrored clarity
To which perfumes, shadows and harmonies respond.
Strawberry odors like a babyís chair.
Horn-like oboes, trees and furry plains
Oscillating orange idols, corrupt red-burning hair.
The knightís armor, lavender grains
Amorous statues. hie brain's cortical elisions
Amber. musk, screams through the sot in mauve visions.

Lesbic Isle

On that white balcony we drank sour wine. Warm
Perspiration cooled our skin. Your fear
Wetted our thighs. Sweat ran down the long line
Between your sallow breasts. Darling, your lovers hear
Muted serenades or winging doves; you leave
This cold perfume, your love-core, on irises
On your enameled calves. Poets weave
Falls of their peculiar meter on papyruses
You brush your cheek against a powdered sot
The belly of a girl who once lost her mouth
In my gold hair. The odors it begot
Beneath her saffron neck in the warm South
Of her body chanted what the starfish did.
We blended like the puckered arms of squid.
hear


To A Girl Prom Malabar

Your feet are lovely, your hands on your hips,
Your sweet flanks, invoke the poet within
Men. Your eyes smoother than your dark skins
The white country where the vultures hover-
Your task- to kiss the scrotum of your lover,
Bring him sugar-water if he lies
Chase away the hornets, bees and flies.
You hear the morning crickets sing hosannahs.
You buy parakeets; you chew bananas.
When the evening drops its violet pale curtain
You dance sweetly beneath him- certain
Your dreams are visions beyond words;
You make the noise of trees shaken by hummingbirds.
Would you like to see my France,
This burlesque filled with idiots who prance
Corseted - both mind and hips
Tethered- girdles muffling their lips?
Here youíd earn your supper with your lies.
Youíd sell the perfume of your thighs
Dreaming of the sea, the milky sand
The ebon ghosts in your cocoa land.

The Enchanter

In his monkish cell her white arms were books
Like limber footnotes around him; a hell
His bibliophilic adolescence, had made his looks
Glum, dispassionate. With a dour spell
A wizards rune, daubed on papyrus, heíd shiver
Out glassy rhythms. Huge phalloi would erupt
From flame colored jinns. He watched her quiver
In love. One morning, she was a bit corrupt.
Bathing necromantic ghosts in morning light
The burnt out stars like gold nipples in a sheath
She sucked those starless phantoms, love turned white.
This mute beauty, stupid but subtly deep
Had waked this Phoebus from his sleep!


Night Song Of A Wandering Asiatic Shepherd (After Leopardi)

What are you doing in the sky, tell me what?
You! Silent moon!
Standing at evening, gliding
Facing deserts philosophically
You fall into sleeping-
By now, arenít you tired
Of the same old way?
God, bored again? Do you still like
Peering at this mountain valley?
Of course, your minute is a whole shepherdís night.
The sunís rays impale the womby infantís feet
His heavy eyes rove over plains
Mountains, flocks, apple-veined nimbuses
You shrug, blinking
tired, you fall into sleeping.
You walt for evening
Itís all you want.
So tell me- what's your white belly worth
Or my lifeless, tiny gut?
Whatís the point of this pastoral
Short race through starry jelly.
You whine in ecstasy,
Your fantastic somersaults, my dizzy tidal path
Or your immortal rut?


Hunger

If Iíve got a taste it's not only
For earth and stones
I always lunch on air
Rocks, iron and coal.

The wolf bays under leaves,
Sitting out fine feathers
From his raw quail.
Like him, I chew flying souls.

Only ingot, pebbles that are broken,
Old stones of churches
Morained in grey valleys
Like arks from Noahís flood.

Forest spiders
Eat nothing but violets;
Salads, fruits
For the eater.

I want to sleep
At Solomonís altar
While the broth and the rust
Mix with the cedar.

An Inebriated Boat

After that, I bathed myself in the sea's
Salty iambs infused with stars. Milked dawns
Ate the grassy sky where pale vampires wheeze
In the blue floats. When a poet descends

Staining misty afternoons, flying carps
Flap bony wings at the fire of Michael.
Stronger than alcohol, wider than blood-harps,
Whales flip across the dark sunspots, the liquor still

Above clotted sunsets, corroded saber-scars of rust
Whipped by long violet spines
Burlesque top bananas or phosphorescent dust
Beat monotonous tattoos on the neon signs

Sidereal cities and milk-chocolate islands
Where the jellied skies open to the voyager.
In your endless nights, you sleep away from the bands
Of jeweled peacocks in the granite huts of the future.


The Apotheosis


Whitened by moons, cabbage-green skies dribble light,
Unfolding in the starry woods. Under blue pillars
The coppery clown rows through the luminous heavens.
Hot comets, meteors, fall from his hat. He smiles
Mischievously at his enemy, a dark Saracen
Disembarking from golden skies. Yellow tints
Twist like hornets. Drunks dance in echoes.
Gnarled trees melt with sort shivers
Paling ghosts under the speckled low-hanging sun.

The Saracen kills the coppery clown.
Like aluminum curtains his fishy ghost dissolves
Bleeding its bottomless gold. The burnt almond falls
Eyes studded with black grapes, shit on his tattooed cheek.

Mauve odors immersed in moistures
Fall to the flowerless turf.

His corpse burns the ebony meadow
Where the dwarf-stars sleep like snow.

The Lice-Hunters

If the kid's forehead, filled with swelling blood
Calls up the white swarm of gnatty dreams, the black grails
Two tall elegant sisters come to his bed
With fragile hands and silver fingernails.

They sit him near a window in a draft. There
Where the blue air bathes tangled flowers
Dew falls on his clots of thick hair.
Within his forests their charming fingers wander.

Their delicate breath, singing
Like oozing honeys, they smell like earthy yams and roses.
He coughs up barf held by clenched teeth, slinging
Puke. An organ's farting sigh distends their noses.

He hears black eyelashes beating time in fragrant chapels
Sweet, electric fingers squeezing microscopic scabs
With thick queenly fingernails. They asphyxiate the dirty animals These chill somnambulists. They crack the lice like tiny crabs.

The White Lady (after Mallarme)


Stay away.
Help me to comb my hair lazily before my mirror.
You with a clear look like a diamond,
Close that window. The idiot sky smiles angelically
Like light vibrating in deeply stained church windows.
I am in love with youths, nude in the fountain-
Bathing in perfumed gold, kissing in forgotten dawns
Coupling among the sad fetes, motes inn my hair
Iím waiting for the unknown lover whose bones will chill me.
Let's duel with cold femurs like blinding stones.
Your kiss would annihilate me.
Comb my hair; the ultimate curse is to be utterly alone.
White nights of ivory coal, calm snow,
Numb my long alabaster thighs with a nacral powder.
In hidden amethyst gardens
Some find their idols in mirrors, soft as mercury.
They serve my virginal body on ice.
They adore my hair, woven with light.
They praise my enameled feet.
They love inhuman light, perfumes, an ivory face.
They drink blood.
The animal-jewels blink in flaming abysses.
I am deserted. I bloom for myself.
Myrrh- your drunkenness drowns my lazy head.
This lovely sky offends me.

Snake-Dance

Like deep grass your locks, a fog like sea
Washes perfumed graves
To clean last night's ecstasy
With mard-brown waves.

I like to see you, sea-slug, whore of the nights
When your skin is fair
The gleaming silk when fire lights
The worm's hair.

You giggle; you must love a wizard
You must be fond
Of dark spells, to twist, to wiggle your gizzard
Below his wand.

A bloody glacier flowing south
Sheds liquid like a sheath
Hot water in your mouth
Explodes, flows through your white teeth.

Above your nostrils your look is blank
As the light in stained glass boots.
You're blind as Daphne who sank
In Earth, her clitoris like roots.

I guess I'm swilling stronger rye
Than I normally get at the bar;
My throat feels a bit dry.
My cock is stranger than a star.

Aegean Serenade

Your embraces are coldly long as waterfalls
Descending like gulls in your bottomless gulf
I've heard the mimicked swansongs, the sugared calls
Of Medea, drinking tears to toast your health.
Your embraces are coldly long as waterfalls.

Mother of orgies, muse of Sapphic games
Lesbos where sharp-tongued unembarrassed kisses
Fiery as white suns, iced as the false names
Men call God, a glassy pool, a young Narcissus
Mother of orgies, muse of Sapphic games.

In these tepid languorous nights
The hollow-eyed girls touch their fat hips.
Drunk on green wine, with little bites
They nibble soft fruits with their lips
In these tepid languorous nights.

Daumier

Neither satyrist nor mocker
Nor the bastard son of light
Not the humor of the locker
Etching grossness with delight
But he who offers after
Days of dark life, the lies
Gods tell without laughter,
This man is truly wise.

A Lesson from Minerals

Love provokes sadness you say?
When any rock is hit by sea-floes
Idiots, stones that once were gay
Learn the secret everybody knows;
Life is Evil. We float in a bay
Like young joy, impermeably clear.
Bitch, kiss me on this cloudless day
With your pubescent mouth, my dear.

Below and Above

In the bizarre and livid sky
Sick and thickly red,
What dreams, what lover- don't lie
Who fell in your hollow head?
Hidden, what tome,
What puerile synthesis
Did you offer Greece and Rome,
What silly metamorphosis?
What skies, powdered by storms
Reflect your loud pride?
What mirrors you call forms,
What glass clouds do you ride?
What chariot-hearses, buried ghost
In hells my soul likes most?

Plaint

You got weight, my song,
Hey, we got guts, Sisyphus;
Come on- jump from your precipice-
Time's short, Art's long.
Shivering, our muffled drum
Beats the cold requiems,
My cock in your harmonium
Perpetuates such epigrams.
Untouched by your caress
The jewel no jeweler ever set,
Male organs in a dance
Flowers in numb regret,
Pour out unutterable fragrance
In their onanistic loneliness.

Marrakesh

Les palais, les tombeaux,
Changez dans le monde d'eaux,
Les deux cotes d'une etoile d'argent
Que n'existe pas pour une compliment.

Díune vivante matematique
Avec la sensualite- mais platonique-
ll y a des moutons pour manger- mais, en fine,
Qui- qu'est-ce que c'est- la cuisine?


Carte

Assez! Pas de fuilletons negres!
J'ai nee dans les bras du Musset.
Une chinoise, une poule amandine,
Un sot, mysterieuse, feline,
J'ai traverse les boulevards
Avec une harpe, une haut-bois-
Mon poule- c'est une saison
Malheureuse, qui arrivez sans raison.
Passez l'hiver, le printemps,
En Asie, les pompes
Comme les ames d'un chat fou-
Merde- pour moi
Toujour, mort poule, je pensee de toi
En Pekin: Chinoise- dans un tour
Pour une jeu de carte- et l'amour.

Pour Karl et Bonnie Schapira

Pour une caprice, un roman a clef
Ou un coup nouvelle d'ecstase
Vous avez les vies des chefs
La gout d'une certain classe
Pour une caprice, un roman a clef
Ou un coup nouvelle d'ecstase.

Aubade

C'est quelquechose hynotique,
Ici, le note tremble
Comme une putain frigide
Dans les cieux; ne semble
Pas une manniquin placide
Dans la nuit. Dans la boutique
La fille blanche ouvrez une chose
Rouge, comme une bouche des roses.

Voyons!

Je suis Roy Rogers,
Le vrai maitre des images,
Je suis une ave
Dansant dans les caves,
Toujour le dimanche
Ma vrai femme blanche
Nous mangons la poule noir
Chantant comme la rossignol
Doucement- c'est ne pas drole
Avec l'ivresse ce soir?

Antoineís

Ah bon heur
Gouts sont
Bonnes dieux
A huit heur
Je vois le bon menu.

Coeur de salade
Quelle fou malade
J'ai peur et bois
Vin tan rouge
Je crois le bon menu.

Potage poisson
Terrepin le fin
Non omelette pas
Argent ventiemme
J'ai moi le bon menu.

Night Song Of A Wandering Asiatic Shepherd (After Leopardi)

What are you doing in the sky, tell me what?
You! Silent moon!
Standing at evening, gliding
Facing deserts philosophically
You fall into sleeping-
By now, arenít you tired
Of the same old way?
God, bored again? Do you still like
Peering at this mountain valley?
Of course, your minute is a whole shepherdís night.
The sunís rays impale the womby infantís feet
His heavy eyes rove over plains
Mountains, flocks, apple-veined nimbuses
You shrug, blinking
tired, you fall into sleeping.
You walt for evening
Itís all you want.
So tell me- what's your white belly worth
Or my lifeless, tiny gut?
Whatís the point of this pastoral
Short race through starry jelly.
You whine in ecstasy,
Your fantastic somersaults, my dizzy tidal path
Or your immortal rut?

Chat Et Rossignol

Oublie-la, mon chat morte
La journee des etoiles
C'est trop vit, tu semble
Lente comme une tete au gibbet
Lugubre comme l'ame d'avenir.
Vache, imbecile des cieux
Cadaver avec une coupeau ivre
Mangez, allez dans la reve-
Bete. L'eternal qui t'adore.

Marrakesh

Les palais, les tombeaux,
Changez dans le monde d'eaux,
Les deux cotes d'une etoile d'argent
Que n'existe pas pour une compliment.

Díune vivante matematique
Avec la sensualite- mais platonique-
ll y a des moutons pour manger- mais, en fine,
Qui- qu'est-ce que c'est- la cuisine?


Carte

Assez! Pas de fuilletons negres!
J'ai nee dans les bras du Musset.
Une chinoise, une poule amandine,
Un sot, mysterieuse, feline,
J'ai traverse les boulevards
Avec une harpe, une haut-bois-
Mon poule- c'est une saison
Malheureuse, qui arrivez sans raison.
Passez l'hiver, le printemps,
En Asie, les pompes
Comme les ames d'un chat fou-
Merde- pour moi
Toujour, mort poule, je pensee de toi
En Pekin: Chinoise- dans un tour
Pour une jeu de carte- et l'amour.

Pour Karl et Bonnie Schapira

Pour une caprice, un roman a clef
Ou un coup nouvelle d'ecstase
Vous avez les vies des chefs
La gout d'une certain classe
Pour une caprice, un roman a clef
Ou un coup nouvelle d'ecstase.

Aubade

C'est quelquechose hynotique,
Ici, le note tremble
Comme une putain frigide
Dans les cieux; ne semble
Pas une manniquin placide
Dans la nuit. Dans la boutique
La fille blanche ouvrez une chose
Rouge, comme une bouche des roses.
Voyons!

Je suis Roy Rogers,
Le vrai maitre des images,
Je suis une ave
Dansant dans les caves,
Toujour le dimanche
Ma vrai femme blanche
Nous mangons la poule noir
Chantant comme la rossignol
Doucement- c'est ne pas drole
Avec l'ivresse ce soir?

Antoineís

Ah bon heur
Gouts sont
Bonnes dieux
A huit heur
Je vois le bon menu.
Coeur de salade
Quelle fou malade
J'ai peur et bois
Vin tan rouge
Je crois le bon menu.
Potage poisson
Terrepin le fin
Non omelette pas
argent ventiemme
J'ai moi le bon menu.

Visiones Judaicas

Paz paz paz
Ademas
Lo que quiero
Quizas
Montana bonita
Que se necesita
Para verlo
Para creerlo
Tengo machina
Perdida
Tu pagina-
Espiritu.
Dio
Yo soy feo
Tengo espiritu
Peligroso
Tu- calma tranquilla-
Deme buen dia.
La santidad de la muerte
Con flores no es mejor
Ni mas fuerte
Que la vida de mi tia.
Dios nos matalos, tuya y mia.

Cancion Loca

Yo soy una tourista
Yo quiero una vista
De platicando mejicano hombres
Y tambien mujeres
Que tienen cosas raras
Descubierto por las nombres de las sombras.

Cancion

Nadie se sabe
Nadie se aprende
Todo se vive-
Nadie se comprende.
Antes de eso
Como un surrende
Todo se vive-
Nada se comprende.

La Abuela

Ella, sesenta y tres, me dice
Domingo en el pais: Antigua
Era civil y la gente alegre.
Trabajaban en una hora caliente
Ella recuerde. El aire no hace frio-
BI invierno no sabe nieve.
No viene nadie para pelear-
En las enfermedades la gente
Viajaban de azucar que azucar.

Sverige Epigrams

1

Ven vi legger, blume i vinter
Sjal musta bor i skalle
Alskerer, jag talar inte
Jag, min du, du talar.

2

Ven du och jag vill stor
Och ta Geod helsningar
Med aquavit, rain mor
Och desa natt, min far
Manen skall bli twa
Och vi vill lager mat
Med soker, ganska bra.


Basura (Poema Hallado)

No tires basura en Nueva York.
No tires Nueva York en basura.
No tires la nueva basura.
Eva era basura.
Nueva York era basura.
Eva tires basura.
Los Reyes no tiren basura.
Los Reyes en Nueva York son basura.




Visiones Judaicas

Paz paz paz
Ademas
Lo que quiero
Quizas
Montana bonita
Que se necesita
Para verlo
Para creerlo
Tengo machina
Perdida
Tu pagina-
Espiritu.
Dio
Yo soy feo
Tengo espiritu
Peligroso
Tu- calma tranquilla-
Deme buen dia.
La santidad de la muerte
Con flores no es mejor
Ni mas fuerte
Que la vida de mi tia.
Dios nos matalos, tuya y mia.

Cancion Loca

Yo soy una tourista
Yo quiero una vista
De platicando mejicano hombres
Y tambien mujeres
Que tienen cosas raras
Descubierto por las nombres de las sombras.

Cancion

Nadie se sabe
Nadie se aprende
Todo se vive-
Nadie se comprende.
Antes de eso
Como un surrende
Todo se vive-
Nada se comprende.

La Abuela

Ella, sesenta y tres, me dice
Domingo en el pais: Antigua
Era civil y la gente alegre.
Trabajaban en una hora caliente
Ella recuerde. El aire no hace frio-
BI invierno no sabe nieve.
No viene nadie para pelear-
En las enfermedades la gente
Viajaban de azucar que azucar.
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