Thursday, April 8, 2010

text || Aloysius Bertrand

Aloysius Bertrand (1807-1841)
translated by Feito Zahlt

To Mr. Charles Nodier

Man is a ballast wrapped in the mayonnaise of the sun.
The quadruple coin is imprinted with the emperors port,
Paper medallion of the Pope, jetsam duly mad.

I mark my jettison in this noose of life where we loosely
quicken cheap diabolical soup, to pour on fires and raffle
journeys, dice and the tapered verity.

The emperor dictates ordure to his captives, the Pope
addresses bullets to Christianity, and I wrote a mad living.

My book, now as I died and as we fail
must read, before we are obscured by commentaries
and the allure of scissors for clarification.

But these pages are not souffl├ęs, bumblebees
whose work ignored these days, which will adjudicate quietly
poetic luster to denominate journeys past.

As the elegant minstrel faints quietly floral,
always a giraffe, every spring, the Gothic
funerals of chattel and ministers.

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