my twenties
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Diverses poetic journeys:

Twenties.

The rain..... A corner of sky...

A place ........................................... The Unusuals

O!........................................................... Tha clamor.......................................... My twenties.

The exile.


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Twenties




Twenties
The rebirth of idias
Metamorphosis
Escape between the right and the wrong
Temporary uneasiness
The blood that try to escape
The total evasion
Unusuality
Haughtility
Stranger in an icy universe
Strangeness
Strange phenomena of the soul
Nothingness
Crazyness


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The rain


It is raining
A garden of poetry
Suspended to the roof of heaven
In black and white decorum
The rytmic whispering of the sands
In continuous triolets
Untouched by their monotony
the dance of the little drops

The dance of sparkles
At the horizon, like foolish fires
Fighting nervously
The ephemeral suns

And coming to die a little
In motionless and sparkling patches
Or distrusting in fugue
Towards sacred sanctuaries

The silent rain
That dominate the shadows
Scaring the noises, the cries
She speaks for herself


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A piece of heaven...

A piece of heaven in my eyes
My foot on the grass fields
a piece of love in my pockets
full of holes



And the frightened hand of my fingers
I search your burried smiles
Amough my winters of nightmare
deceived

We will go to the balroom
A full night of season
Terminate our love in steps of dream
In hurried paces.


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A Place

I dream of a place,
A place to be the two of us.
I dream of a place.



I made it tenderer, lightier,
Lightier than the bird.
I made it lightier.

It will carry two hearts,
Two hearts loving each other.
It will carry our hearts.

I will keep there our days,
I will keep our kisses.
I will keep there all our love.



I dream of a place,
The place of our love.
I dream of that place.

But I am so fragile,
So fragile to keep our love.
I feel myself being so fragile.

We must cry still,
Cry as always.
We must cry always.
I dream of a place,
A place without cries.
I dream of a place,
Where love will be possible...


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The Unusuals

The hearts that search
The thousand roads by the nights,
The disguised pleasures
Under the ridiculous flames.



The hearts that search
In the abandonnement of noises,
Under the mask of dreams
The kisses of shadows,
To the four corners of the night;
The hearts that search.



They trace over my hand,
Over the scratch hand of the forefather
Burst out the oneromancy
To the complaints of mourning moons.

They teach to the child
The diabolic smile;
They teach to his candor
The kiss of treason.

They make asleep the beauty
To the pillow of silence,
The melancoly of secrets,
And of discreet games.



Their speaches are vain,
Erased by the monotony,
The forgetfulness and the oldness
The seasons suceeding one another
To the passing away of youth.

They open their eyes
Only for the blackness,
Crawling sylphides
To the crescendo of aging.

Diabolical mirage,
Of diffuse light,
To the somber mirror
Of dream.



They carry their heart over their hand,
And love escape from them,
Tire and monotonous,
As the winds of autumn.

The hearts that search
In the abandonment of mornings,
The easeness harmful to the Virgen.

The hearts that fall asleep
To the night of decades,
Whose eyes are like semaphores.

The earts that sink
Under the withered mounts,
Are more than dried out volcanos.




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O!



O caress!
In the wind
In time
The warmly loughs
The unparallel sayings
The ended mornings.

O laziness!
Wearyness
Nostalgy
Carefree lullaby
Night without voice
Sleepiness without wake

O distress!
Distrougted
Lost
The eternal nights
The nightmare of aging
Of lost destinies.



O sadness!
Melody
Sensuality
Kisses of winds
Of easy storms
O charming sin!

O youthness!
Beauty
Ugliness
Greatness and smallness
The too long dreams
Of unseasable memories.

O oldness!
Beauty
Ugliness
Greatness and smallness
The too short dreams
Of lost memories.....


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That clamour.

That clamour coming from the city
Strikes my heart
Resembles to a nasty complaint,
Without profundness.
That clomour!

It carries complaints and cries,
That clamour;
The garbages of constant bacchanals,
The city over there
From where sounds are comming.

We see men trying to escape,
Leaving forever,
And in their evasions they go dying,
In the regrets
Of darkening cities.



Those cities too dark have roamings
that escape from hearts.
The somber and fatal profundness
Of all those hearts,
All their clamour.

Alas! Me and my heart also are there
Conquested by this complaint,
And forever in that mud,
Will live there without any fear,
Of escaping from there...
The clamour that come from the city!
That clamour!...


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My Twenties

I am twenty.
The dreams
Eat me up,
And the nights
Sad lifes,
Escape,
Tireness,
Without horizons
Neither songs.
My twenties



I collect from my dream
This pretty lie,
A tender love
Until morning;
Tomorrow alas
It vanishes,
And I continue
Naïvely,
My twenties
My twenties




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The exile

Your sudden metamorphosis
The unvolontary abandonment
Of ancient rituals
The twenties that whisper
In the spasms exiled
The quitars of exile
Are playing the sadness
To the distant dreams
All my youthness of memories
Imposible to grasp
This intengible mirage
Of chanting decorums
Rapidly crumbling
The sudden metamorphosis
The unsuspicious regret
Of unusual pasts
The guitars of exile
Are chanting my spleen



Love at the corner of your heart
A breast that perspire
Exile carry a dried breast
It is your heart that beat no more
The guitars of exile
Your voice always alone
Those tinkling of bells
That says no more
The far away smiles
Memories we search for
And that sink
In the mist of tomorrows

The extinguished laughs
And those far away eyes
that speak no more.



The quitars..........


Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (poetry: translated 1999) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe


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