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Uploaded by Watchman71 on Jul 30, 2010
"(...) Donner un sens plus pur aux mots de la tribu"...
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Now to himself by Death eternal changed,
The poet challengeth with naked brand,
His age dismayed that n'ere might understand,
Death's deathless triumph in the voice estranged.
They with the Hydra's panic dread and hate,
To bear the angel breath a purer sense,
In tribal words proclaimed doom's immanence,
From blackest draught of witchbrew binding fate,
arcanus121 11 months ago
From earth and cloud's fell enmity and grief,
Therefrom our thoughts should mould no bas relief,
To grace the splendour of the tomb of Poe
Calm block that falls from some stars overthrow,
May this at least this adamantine reef
Warn blasphemy no farther shall thou go.
@ThierryCABOT
Que répondrai-je encore aux mots que tu cisèles,
A leurs envols, leurs bonds, vers ceux de Mallarmé ?...
Non, non, Thierry, ta Muse ouvre trop grand les ailes
Et mon Pégase est mort ; mon zèle déplumé
Klaes Gerhusten
HxhXnin9e 1 year ago
L’énigme ciselée en des bijoux d’absence
Parachève ton sacre, ô lisse Mallarmé !
Blanc sortilège éclos d’un gouffre d’impuissance !
Tel est l’art pour lequel tu fus si bien armé.
Un poète contemporain
ThierryCABOT 1 year ago
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Now to himself by Death eternal changed,
The poet challengeth with naked brand,
His age dismayed that n'ere might understand,
Death's deathless triumph in the voice estranged.
They with the Hydra's panic dread and hate,
To bear the angel breath a purer sense,
In tribal words proclaimed doom's immanence,
From blackest draught of witchbrew binding fate,
arcanus121 11 months ago
From earth and cloud's fell enmity and grief,
Therefrom our thoughts should mould no bas relief,
To grace the splendour of the tomb of Poe
Calm block that falls from some stars overthrow,
May this at least this adamantine reef
Warn blasphemy no farther shall thou go.
arcanus121 11 months ago
@ThierryCABOT
Que répondrai-je encore aux mots que tu cisèles,
A leurs envols, leurs bonds, vers ceux de Mallarmé ?...
Non, non, Thierry, ta Muse ouvre trop grand les ailes
Et mon Pégase est mort ; mon zèle déplumé
Klaes Gerhusten
HxhXnin9e 1 year ago
L’énigme ciselée en des bijoux d’absence
Parachève ton sacre, ô lisse Mallarmé !
Blanc sortilège éclos d’un gouffre d’impuissance !
Tel est l’art pour lequel tu fus si bien armé.
Un poète contemporain
ThierryCABOT 1 year ago