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I found André Breton’s poems whilst peering into the depths of the aether during the darkest hours of the night yesterevening, by the light of a small silvery screen. Although I knew of him, I had never read any of his fiction/poetry, and I am wild about his words. I find the below a stunning piece. It is a translation, and like all translations will not necessarily be as the original, but I often find I enjoy translations as they can bring a soft abstraction to the words, and all the Gods and medium-sized Dogs know how much I love a spot of the abstract. That said, André Breton was the spearhead of the surrealist movement, so he will have enjoyed juggling his words in an unusual fashion anyway. I haven’t come across a ‘new’ poem so exciting to mine eyes and senses for some time. André! He the poet, and more. – nods

If you click upon his name here – André Breton – you shall find out more abut the chap— fascinating stuff, and I absolutely must read his novel ‘Nadja’ – (1928) at some point.

I was wandering for sometime, searching for I know not what — and it appeared. I hope you enjoy it too, though as ever on the Cloud — it isn’t for everyone.  –smiles

 

Always for the First Time
By Andre Breton.

Always for the first time
I scarcely know you by sight.
You come home at some hour of the night into a house oblique
to my window,
An imaginary house.
It is there that from one moment to the next
In the complete dark.
I wait until once more the fascinating ripping takes place.
The one ripping
Off the facade of my heart.
The closer I come to you
In reality,
The more does the key sing in the door of the unknown room,
Where you appear to me alone.
You are first completely melted into the glittering
The fugitive angle of a curtain,
Is a field of jasmine I looked at at dawn on a road near Grasse,
With its women fruit pickers, diagonally
Behind them the dark falling wing of untrimmed seedlings,
In front of them the square of the dazzling light,
The invisibly raised curtain.
In an uproar all the flowers come back,
It is you at grips with the too long hour never troubled enough
with sleep,
You as if you could be
The same, so close that I will perhaps never meet you.
You pretend not to know I see you,
Miraculously I am no longer sure you know it.
Your idleness fills my eyes with tears,
A cloud of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures;
It is a honey-sweetened chase.
There are rocking chairs on a bridge there are branches which
might scratch you in the forest.
In a shop window on rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette there are
Two beautiful legs crossed wearing high stockings
Which open out in the center of a large white clock.
There is a silk ladder unrolled over the ivy.
There is the
Hopeless fusion of your presence and your absence.
I have found the secret
Of loving you,
Always for the first time.

 

 

André Breton

The above poem displayed below in the original French. Also quite beautiful;

 

Toujours pour la première fois

C’est à peine si je te connais de vue
Tu rentres à telle heure de la nuit dans une maison oblique à ma fenêtre
Maison tout imaginaire
C’est là que d’une seconde à l’autre
Dans le noir intact
Je m’attends à ce que se produise une fois de plus la déchirure fascinante
La déchirure unique
De la façade et se mon cœur
Plus je m’approche de toi
En réalité
Plue la clé chante à la porte de la chambre inconnue
Où tu m’apparais seule
Tu es d’abord tout entière fondue dans le brillant
L’angle fugitif d’un rideau
C’est un champ de jasmin que j’ai contemplé à l’aube sur une route des environs de Grasse
Avec ses cueilleuses en diagonale
Derrière elles l’aile sombre tombante des plants dégarnis
Devant elles l’équerre de l’éblouissant
Le rideau invisiblement soulevé
Rentrent en tumulte toutes les fleurs
C’est toi aux prises avec cette heure trop longue jamais assez trouble jusqu’au sommeil
Toi comme si tu pouvais être
La même à cela près que je ne te rencontrerai peut-être jamais
Tu fais semblant de ne pas savoir que je t’observe
Merveilleusement je ne suis plus sûr que tu le sais
Ton désœuvrement m’emplit lex yeux de larmes
Une nuée d’interprétations entoure chacun de tes gestes
C’est une chasse à la miellée
Il y a des rocking-chairs sur un pont il y a des branchages qui risquent de t’égratingner dans la forét
Il y a dans une vitrine run Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Deux belles jambes croisées prises dans de hauts bas
Qui sévasent au centre d’un grand trèfle blanc
Il y a une échelle de soie déroulée sur le lierre
Il y a
Qu’à me pencher sue le précipice et de ton absence
J’ai trouvé le secret
De t’aimer
Toujours pour le première fois

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