Le Contre-ciel by Rene Daumal

Author:Rene Daumal [ DAUMAL, RENE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: POE000000, POE017000
ISBN: 9781468304749
Publisher: Abrams
Published: 2012-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

NEGATION

Speak no more with this tenderness of the prairie,

speak no more of snows, speak no more of the heart,

let poisonous wines be warmed between the hands

of life,

speak no more of seas while your heart beats,

speak no more of rivers, let your lips dry

and let your blood freeze from worn-out desires

that hang between your decaying teeth,

speak no more of the sky by champing your lips,

speak no more of the wind, let the light swell,

let your breathing fatten the night next to your

nostrils,

speak no more of the fire of your enslaved voice,

speak no more of your king, the old sun, let it

set and extinguish itself in black mud,

in the contoured life of your skulls.

Speak no more of the heart!

Your tongue is rotten and your breath cold,

your empty stare gazes at the night,

dead worlds coupled together fill your eyes,

speak no more into the plebeian air.

Just try to smile,

you will hear the creaking of your calcified bones,

laughter will undulate through a patchwork sky

and the web covering the world will be filled with

muted sobs.

Music of the dead convulses through your teeth

—try to smile at the flowers!—

your cold feet are welded to the windowless earth,

you look all around with your thousand eyes

but no one sees your eyes and your eyes see nothing.

Laughter will crash through your sonorous heads

—try to smile at the birds!—

your hands will crumble with a smell of plaster,

laugh at the garbage can and laugh at the broom.

Even space dies along with the sparks you threw

into the life-breath, and time dies, crystalizing

your vain smiles, clotting your tears,

and you freeze slowly in a mud hole.

An unknown sun flying around your dried hair

shines through the dust,

crazy winds carry to your ears

music bitter enough to shatter your teeth.

Rivers returning to their sources burst forth from

your disjointed fingers, from the holes in the sides

of your temples,

and the dirt which holds you up glimmers with sulphur,

it gives way under your feet and bites at your ankles.

Your laughter has created new stars we will not see,

and you can smile at exotic birds and rare flowers,

but you live behind a coal wall

and our pupils crack and our eyes bleed when we want

to see you,

when we want to see you with empty eyes,

when we want to smile no longer

nor sob into the celestial womb,

our arms turn, scraping against metal caskets.

Our words are interrupted by the night of truth.

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