the voice of robert desnos - robert desnos

The Voice Of Robert Desnos
by Robert Desnos

So like a flower and a current of air
the flow of water fleeting shadows
the smile glimpsed at midnight this excellent evening
so like every joy and every sadness
it is the midnight past lifting its naked body above belfries and poplars
I call to me those lost in the fields
old skeletons young oaks cut down
scraps of cloth rotting on the ground and linen drying in farm country
I call tornadoes and hurricanes
storms typhoons cyclones
tidal waves
earthquakes
I call the smoke of volcanoes and the smoke of cigarettes
the rings of smoke from expensive cigars
I call lovers and loved ones
I call the living and the dead
I call gravediggers I call assassins
I call hangmen pilots bricklayers architects
assassins
I call the flesh
I call the one I love
I call the one I love
I call the one I love
the jubilant midnight unfolds its satin wings and perches on my bed
the belfries and the poplars bend to my wish
the former collapse the latter bow down
those lost in the fields are found in finding me
the old skeletons are revived by my voice
the young oaks cut down are covered with foliage
the scraps of cloth rotting on the ground and in the earth
snap to at the sound of my voice like a flag of rebellion
the linen drying in farm country clothes adorable women
whom I do not adore
who come to me
obeying my voice, adoring
tornadoes revolve in my mouth
hurricanes if it is possible redden my lips
storms roar at my feet
typhoons if it is possible ruffle me
I get drunken kisses from the cyclones
the tidal waves come to die at my feet
the earthquakes do not shake me but fade completely
at my command
the smoke of volcanoes clothes me with its vapors
and the smoke of cigarettes perfumes me
and the rings of cigar smoke crown me
loves and love so long hunted find refuge in me
lovers listen to my voice
the living and the dead yield to me and salute me
the former coldly the latter warmly
the gravediggers abandon the hardly-dug graves
and declare that I alone may command their nightly work
the assassins greet me
the hangmen invoke the revolution
invoke my voice
invoke my name
the pilots are guided by my eyes
the bricklayers are dizzied listening to me
the architects leave for the desert
the assassins bless me
flesh trembles when I call

the one I love is not listening
the one I love does not hear
the one I love does not answer.


Si semblable à la fleur et au courant d’air
au cours d’eau aux ombres passagères
au sourire entrevu ce fameux soir à minuit
si semblable à tout au bonheur et à la tristesse
c’est le minuit passé dressant son torse nu
au dessus des beffrois et des peupliers
j’appelle à moi ceux-là perdus dans les campagnes
les vieux cadavres les jeunes chênes coupés
les lambeaux d’étoffe pourissant sur la terre et le linge
séchant aux alentours des fermes
j’appelle à moi les tornades et les ouragans
les tempètes les typhons les cyclones
les raz de marée
les tremblements de terre
j’appelle à moi la fumée des volcans et celle des cigarettes
les ronds de fumée des cigarres de luxe
j’appelle à moi les amours et les amoureux
j’appelle à moi les vivants et les morts
j’appelle les fossoyeurs j’appelle les assassins
j’appelle les bourreaux j’appelle les pilotes les maçons et
les architectes
les assassins
j’appelle la chair
j’appelle celle que j’aime
j’appelle celle que j’aime
j’appelle celle que j’aime
le minuit triomphant déploue ses ailes de satin
et se pose sur mon lit
les beffois et les peupliers se plient à mon désir
ceux-là s’éroulent ceux-là s’affaissent
les perdus dans la campagne se retrouvent en me trouvant
les vieux cadavres ressuscitent à ma voix
les jeunes chênes coupés se couvrent de verdure
les lambeaux d’étoffe pourissent dans la terre et sur la terre
claquent à ma voix comme l’étendard de la révolte
le linge séchant aux alentours des fermes habille d’adorables femmes
que je n’adore pas qui viennent à moi obéissent à ma voix et m’adorent
les tornades tournent dans ma bouche
les ouragans rougissent s’il est possible mes lèvres
les tempètes grondent à mes pieds
les typhons s’il est possible me dépeignent
je reçois les baisers d’ivresse des cyclones
les raz de marrée viennent mourir à mes pieds
les tremblements de terre ne m’ébranlent pas
mais font tout crouler à mon ordre
la fumée des volcans me vêt de ses vapeurs
et celle des cigarettes me parfume
et les ronds de fumée des cigares me couronnent
les amours et l’amour si longtemps poursuivis se réfugient en moi
les amoureux écoutent ma voix
les vivants et les morts se soumettent et me saluent
les premiers froidement les seconds familièrement
les fossoyeurs abandonnent les tombes à peine creusées
et déclarent que moi seul puis commander leurs noctures travaux
les assassins me saluent
les bourreaux invoquent la révolution
invoquent ma voix
invoquent mon nom
les pilotes se guident sur mes yeux
les maçons ont le vertige en m’écoutant
les assassins me bénissent
la chair palpite à mon appel
celle que j’aime ne m’écoute pas
celle que j’aime ne m’entend pas
celle que j’aime ne me répond pas

14 décembre 1926

you take the first street - robert desnos

You Take The First Street
by Robert Desnos

You take the first street on the right

You go along the quai

You cross the bridge

You knock at the door of the house.

The sun shines

The river flows

At a window a geranium pot trembles

An auto goes by on the other bank.

You turn around to the cheerful landscape

Without seeing that the door has opened behind you

The woman stands on the threshold

The house if full of darkness.

But on the table you see the reflection

The reflection of daylight on a piece of fruit and a bottle

On an earthen-ware plate and on some furniture

And you stay there on the threshold between the

World full of people like you

And on your droning solitude

Of the entire world.

i have dreamed of you so much - robert desnos

I Have Dreamed Of You So Much

by Robert Desnos (tr. Paul Auster)

   I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.

   Is there still time for me to reach your breathing body, to kiss your mouth 

and make your dear voice come alive again?

   I have dreamed of you so much that my arms, grown used to being crossed

on my chest as I hugged your shadow, would perhaps not bend to the shape

of your body.

   For faced with the real form of what has haunted me and governed me for

so many days and years, I would surely become a shadow.

   O scales of feeling.

   I have dreamed of you so much that surely there is no more time for me

to wake up.  I sleep on my feet, prey to all the forms of life and love, and you,

the only one who counts for me today, I can no more touch your face and

lips than touch the lips and face of some passerby.

   I have dreamed of you so much, have walked so much, talked so much, slept

so much with your phantom, that perhaps the only thing left for me is to

become a phantom among phantoms, a shadow a hundred times more shadow

than the shadow that moves and goes on moving, brightly, over the sundial

of your life.