(poem of the day) excerpt from Charenton by Chus Pato [translated from the Galician by Erín Moure]

excerpt from Charenton

Chus Pato [translated from the Galician by Erín Moure] –more poems*

and now the panopticon is a ruin

but never mind for i can imagine the landscape however i want
if a desert, it’ll be a tell
if rich with vegetation, wisteria will grow over the buildings
if in Antarctica, it’ll be a phantasmagoria of ice

some folks (working women, crazies, schoolchildren, poets) still live there, they don’t realize no one guards them

for in times of plenitude, systems of domination don’t pay attention any more to populations, it’s not their job to feed them

it has to do with what you were saying, that “capital is illiterate”

i have to get out:

exit biology, remain in my body

* * *   * * *   * * *

but also: das kapital, no more than a grain of sand in the tempest of the species

*Charenton was a lunatic asylum, founded in 1645 by the Frères de la Charité in Charenton-Saint-Maurice, now Saint-Maurice, Val-de-Marne, France. Wikipedia

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(poem of the day) ‘Sensation’ by Rimbaud

Polski: Autograf Arthura Rimbauda

Polski: Autograf Arthura Rimbauda (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sensation

Arthur Rimbaud

On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass:
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing:
But endless love will mount in my soul;
And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy,
Through the countryside – as happy as if I were with a woman.

Arthur Rimbaud
March 1870

http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/SensationE.html

Arthur Rimbaud standing in front of a tree in ...

Arthur Rimbaud standing in front of a tree in Harar (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Par les soirs bleus d’été, j’irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l’herbe menue :
Rêveur, j’en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien :
Mais l’amour infini me montera dans l’âme,
Et j’irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la nature, heureux comme avec une femme.

Détail statue Arthur Rimbaud

Détail statue Arthur Rimbaud (Photo credit: Wikipedia)