Friday, October 23, 2009

a small poem by rene' char...

"small harp of the larch trees,
on the buttress made of moss and growing flagstones,
-edge of the forests where the cloud breaks-
resonating note of space, in which i believe"

rene' char
(translated by robert bly)

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2 Comments:

Blogger MS said...

I knew I thought of you when I read about Char's "Crystal Wheat-Ear"

The Crystal Wheat-Ear Sheds in the Grasses Its Transparent Harvest

The town was not undone. In the room become weightless, the bestower of freedom covered his beloved with the immense effort of the body, akin to a fluid’s creation by the day. Desire in its alchemy rendered their recent genius essential to that morning’s universe. Far behind them, their mother would betray them no more, their mother so unmoving. Now they preceded the country of their future which contained as yet only the arrow of their mouth whose song had just been born. Their avidity met its object straightaway. They endowed with omnipresence a time free of questioning.


He told her how in days gone by, in the persecuted forests, he would summon animals to whom he brought their chance, how his oath to the imprisoned mountains had made him recognize his exemplary fate and what secret butcher he’d had to conquer before winning in his own eyes his fellow-man’s tolerance.


In the room become weightless and gradually unfurling vast expanses of voyage, the bestower of freedom readied himself to disappear, to mingle with other births, once again.


René Char, from Furor and Mystery, 1948, translated by Mary Ann Caws

11:15 AM  
Blogger sroden said...

oh that is niiiice...i will have to dig deeper, and or, conquer also some secret butchers here (i.e. stacks of randomly disorganized books!), as i know i have more of his work here, but that one poem i posted has been burrowing inside me for a few months know... always such small things!

7:23 AM  

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