Some prose poems patched in his hands
Suddenly then, ecstasy or hypnosis faces him!
As he was reading, bathing in scents of cedar
She stands before him, disrobed, Phaedra-like and solemn!
He mouthed those lines while blossomed within him
A garden of secrets, rustling beeches
The mused muse came to visit him when
Every morning he read on, gold upon her head
He never put the velvety book down
The air heavy with laughter, desires, and rhymes
The Western wind gently rocked them as they held
Each other…Yet as the last poem echoed, she adamantly fled!
Translated on April 17, 2019
Nancy, France
Apr 17, 2019
Apr 17, 2019 at 4:40 AM UTC
Some prose poems patched in his hands
Suddenly then, ecstasy or hypnosis faces him!
As he was reading, bathing in scents of cedar
She stands before him, disrobed, Phaedra-like and solemn!
He mouthed those lines while blossomed within him
A garden of secrets, rustling beeches
The mused muse came to visit him when
Every morning he read on, gold upon her head
He never put the velvety book down
The air heavy with laughter, desires, and rhymes
The Western wind gently rocked them as they held
Each other…Yet as the last poem echoed, she adamantly fled!
Translated on April 17, 2019
Nancy, France
This is a translation of a poem I wrote in French in early March, exposing the topos that the allegory of inspiration is a fe/male muse to poets
The theme, Beauty, is this year's "Spring of the Poets" topic and inspirational concept for us French poets. It's a sort of national festival celebrating poetry through gatherings, readings, conferences and exhibitions throughout France.
