LXXXIII. L’HÉAUTONTIMOROUMÉNOS
À J. G. F.
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher!
Et je ferai de ta paupière,
Pour abreuver mon Sahara,
Jaillir les eaux de la suffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d’espérence
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera
Comme un vaissaeu qui prend le large,
Et dans mon cœur qu’ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat le charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord?
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!
C’est tout mon sang, ce poison noir!
Je suis le sinister miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.
Je suis la plaie et le couteau!
Je suis le soufflet et la joue!
Je suis les members et la roue,
Et la victim et le bourreau!
Je suis de mon cœur le vampire,
-
Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel
condamnés,
Et qui ne peuvent
plus sourire!
LXXXIII. The Masochist
Á J. G. F.
I will strike you without anger or
hate,
I will strike you like a butcher,
Or like Moses hitting the rock!
And I will give you a blackeye,
To water my Sahara,
Weather the waters of sufferance.
My desire balloons on hope
But upon your salty tears it will glide
Like a sailing ship whose sails
expand,
And in my heart will lift
The cherished tears which sound
Like a snare drum drilling a
charge!
Am I not bound in some false treaty
With the divine symphony,
Graced with this voracious irony
Which binds and which gnaws?
The shrill cry is in my voice !
My blood is contaminated with it!
I am the sinister mirror
Where the shrew is reflected back.
I am the knife and the wound!
I am the bellows and the notes!
I am the wheel and the spokes,
Both victim and Torturer.
I am my own heart’s Vampire,
-
One
of those eternally abandoned
Condemned to hear the almost mocking
eternal laughter
And yet who is himself incapable of
even a smile.
HOW
IT IS
The
struggle has got to be Heroic!
Not
necessarily military, as Life itself is War.
Everyday Be-ing a struggle, battling through
the Days,
So
that soldiering or conflict is analogous with Living.
Wine
is the colour of Blood, tasting of haemoglobin – Iron!
The
oxygen rises up through the pulse in the veins.
The
Macerated grape disseminates through the blood
Stream,
intoxicating the mind!
Sex
then Be-ing the Copula, strung out
On
the Verb, and the Event which has comes to define You;
The
Multiple in the One.
Such
is your ontological station.
You
will never forget Him-Her playing out in the REAL.
Living
eternally in your head with Everyone!
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