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| 453_ Hem sur la Seine |
À Christian P.
et spiritus dei ferebatur super aquas (the Vulgate)
La boxe redeviendrait populaire.
Vox bâbûli, comme disait Apulée,
ou simple mode, corde inerte sur la poulie.
Paroles de hâbleurs du Paris
d'aujourd'hui.
Punch back twice as hard,
slam-dunk,
disait le chef des activistes du parti Démocrate,
slogans, hors compétence du grand Barde,
(qui montraient par transparence de très fortes mentales aboulies)
neatly piled in a large Louis Vuitton steamer trunk
or just stacked in a crate
of an old corsair.
For now, in april 1961, E.H. hoped that the ship would come back with full holds of manuscripts,
crammed with signs once scattered all around the Sorbonne,
appurtenances spread by the wind to the Washington Heights of Charonne,
the Burnt Norton,
of his parisian nondescripts.
Today's road to la Finca
is jammed with jalopies
carrying the abject fortune
of the island's paupers.
La Habana n'est plus qu'une tour de Pise
qui fait pencher les guimbardes
vers le fossé depuis la fameuse tribune
de l'homme au béret, Dieu noir de Cuba
Even Kerouac's satori
almost got lost in Britanny,
looking for his karma-mum's bird's eye.
The cosmic dharma stormed out all the kiosks, not a single postcard
left, in high dudgeon,
issuing no values placeable for a guerdon,
nor anything pleasurable that would stand anyone in good stead.
And what's more, the barmaid from Boulder Dam
couldn't correctly distinguish Versailles
from Satory.
Et puis toujours ce mauvais temps,
il va te falloir encore sortir de l'hôtel sous la pluie,
battante comme le cœur qui s'en va secrétant
les larmes absentes d'un organe musculaire
que tu n'avais plus déjà lorsque tu actionnas le coupe-circuit.
They were the good ways of the bad days.
The ones in their heart of hearts who confortably
laughed like a drain,
calling the others a band of sniggerers
did not read Hart Crane,
the to and fro, the ups and downs, that pulled the triggers
of his personal Satan,
they, Hollow Men, did not give a damn.
Ils prennent de malins longs airs
à couper la drogue de leurs histoires auto-addictives
avec du verre ou de la gomme de pneu pour les rendre un peu plus authentiquement fictives.
Voilà que tu écris à la deuxième personne,
c'est une façon de roder la musique à coups de gammes,
essayer de composer plutôt que de bêtement décrire,
a groomable grist for your mill, a bloodletting of words partisans
to get skinned, their internal weather beginning to worsen
too,
cut on the skew,
on purpose.
Like grinding T.S. Eliot
dans sa propre cellulose,
comme de noyer le Comrade Malreux
dans ses discours torrentiels et sirupeux .
He had his Bimbo, you had your Bumby.
His Man's fate is a small slip for the Man's hope
but a giant bubbled gab for writerkind,
a box of free soap.
Aux Amateurs, les pochards et les poivrottes,
even the ones that had formidable breasts
sous leurs humbles manques d'habits,
ne demandaient pas les restes.
Every time was the dedicated time of an abler Easter,
même les pauvres étaient heureux,
the fighters waited and the waiters fighted,
ask Scott,
qui ne donnait pas sa part aux chiens, même saisi à la carotide.
From Lyon to Paris, embedded in Fitzgerald's hoodless Renault,
Hemingway ne retraitait pas vers Caporetto,
that car was like a vroomable beast,
leaving no noise, no room for the disaster.
And then on the evening of 13 November,
volatile epiphany, the attacks.
La rue avait un car d'Enfants-Rouges dans le nez,
les trams et les autobus verts
swam towards the lagoon
of Place de la République refluxing from boulevard Ney.
Bizarre movida pour acquit.
Hem always knew that the dial of his chronometer
was breakable at his wrist.
Nothing had happened until the afternoon,
when the inflammable yeast
detonated with a thunder
like a new moon
at the top of the Moulins de Paris.
Within the crucible of its east.
A move of Evil, the one that ransacks,
et crache sur l'eucharistie qui marche pieds nus sur la barbarie.
Hollande a son moment Bush dans le stade,
il regarde les spectateurs
comme l'autre observait hagard
les enfants de l'école avec des yeux de pintade.
Hem aurait pris le Bataclan par le Blitz des caves,
non économe de sa propre douleur
il aurait défoncé les portes du cellier comme un taureau mort aux égards
et pas attendu trois heures ceint par la peur
qu'on lui apporte dans un panier le décompte des têtes de cent trente Jean-Baptiste,
he would have clinched the case, stood tall,
a terrible feast of fists,
the great magic of pugilistics
(do tell Ezra)
son poing sur la gueule des terroristes.
They had all the time to cherry-pick their collection,
blooming fools, gardeners of their own infestation.
Wipe them nuts, this is his Paris, sa ville.
Pauline versus Hadley,
he doesn't care, bring along the women and men of good will,
call Catherine Barkley.
The exploded bodies were nasty and brutal,
the victims' souls were shining.
Pues nada, nos vemos mas tarde.
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| The Early Eye And The Ear |
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