Photo

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Yvonne de Knops, dit George, dite l’Étoile par Robert...

Yvonne de Knops, dit George, dite l’Étoile par Robert Desnos, photographiée par Man Ray

J’ai tant rêvé de toi

J’ai tant rêvé de toi que tu perds ta réalité.

Est-il encore temps d’atteindre ce corps vivant et de baiser sur cette

bouche la naissance de la voix qui m’est chère?

J’ai tant rêvé de toi que mes bras habitués en étreignant ton ombre à se

croiser sur ma poitrine ne se plieraient pas au contour de ton corps, peut-être.

Et que, devant l’apparence réelle de ce qui me hante et me gouverne

depuis des jours et des années je deviendrais une ombre sans doute,

Ô balances sentimentales.

J’ai tant rêvé de toi qu’il n’est plus temps sans doute que je m’éveille.

Je dors debout, le corps exposé à toutes les apparences de la vie et

de l’amour et toi, la seule qui compte aujourd’hui pour moi, je

pourrais moins toucher ton front et tes lèvres que les premières

lèvres et le premier front venu.

J’ai tant rêvé de toi, tant marché, parlé, couché avec ton fantôme qu’il ne

me reste plus peut-être, et pourtant, qu’à être fantôme parmi les

fantômes et plus ombre cent fois que l’ombre qui se promène et se

promènera allègrement sur le cadran solaire de ta vie.

Robert Desnos

(À la mystérieuse, [Yvonne George] 1926)

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A poem written by Marilyn Monroe in 1955 titled “To the Weeping...

A poem written by Marilyn Monroe in 1955 titled “To the Weeping Willow.”

url: http://netlex.tumblr.com/post/56624595676 by Netlex

I am the escaped one I am the escaped one,After I was bornThey...

I am the escaped one

I am the escaped one,

After I was born

They locked me up inside me

But I left.

My soul seeks me,

Through hills and valley,

I hope my soul

Never finds me.

Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa

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A Red Cross nurse writes down the last words of a British...

A Red Cross nurse writes down the last words of a British soldier, WWI.

Paul Thompson

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:That there’s some corner of a foreign fieldThat is for ever England. There shall beIn that rich earth a richer dust concealed;A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,A body of England’s, breathing English air,Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brook 1914

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Pier Paolo Pasolini I am a force of the Past. My love lies only...

Pier Paolo Pasolini

I am a force of the Past.

My love lies only in tradition.

I come from the ruins, the churches,

the altarpieces, the villages

abandoned in the Appennines or foothills

of the Alps where my brothers once lived.

I wander like a madman down the Tuscolana,

down the Appia like a dog without a master.

Or I see the twilights, the mornings

over Rome, the Ciociaria, the world,

as the first acts of Posthistory

to which I bear witness, for the privilege

of recording them from the outer edge

of some buried age. Monstrous is the man

born of a dead woman’s womb.

And I, a fetus now grown, roam about

more modern than any modern man,

in search of brothers no longer alive.

Pasolini, La Ricotta, Io sono una forza del Passato

Io sono una forza del Passato.

Solo nella tradizione è il mio amore.

Vengo dai ruderi, dalle chiese,

dalle pale d’altare, dai borghi

abbandonati sugli Appennini o le Prealpi,

dove sono vissuti i fratelli.

Giro per la Tuscolana come un pazzo,

per l’Appia come un cane senza padrone.

O guardo i crepuscoli, le mattine

su Roma, sulla Ciociaria, sul mondo,

come i primi atti della Dopostoria,

cui io assisto, per privilegio d’anagrafe,

dall’orlo estremo di qualche età

sepolta. Mostruoso è chi è nato

dalle viscere di una donna morta.

E io, feto adulto, mi aggiro

più moderno di ogni moderno

a cercare fratelli che non sono più.

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