Excerpts from "Exile of Poetry" (2010), unpublished collection of Andre Chenet :
Before sleeping
There are no poets
the ball rolling
little suns
within words
a concentrated space
returns and our silences
truth is that all that questions?
humans struggling to push to grow
daylight
the blind as night
makes them fearful loneliness
edge of death
loneliness
fairy injured
there is no
poets in books or magic
no return of love
; I tell you
I tell you from inside my lip on the edge
blood
I tell you
with filaments and bits of fire
I told you
sacraments
creating
I tell you
beats every moment I tell you
fork winds
language lovers
I tell you what just
far and dear to my heart I tell you
the following dreams
crimes
time I say something
insatiable
of oblivion and sand
I tell you
Islands
ephemeral words of yesterday
I tell you
stammering
the white nights of my
I tell you what
ends and what begins
I
say that almost nothing
of syllables and sounds
The immortal
Tell me the heart and silence
I came to sing
the joy and beauty
your arms wet your hands and your legs
love in the tall grass
I came to you in
uncrossing all
paths through my voice
your eyes saw my pain
already you light up my poems
I came from a country that does violence
where everyone carries his cross
dark beliefs
I spent borders
bristling
suffering Tell me life and embrace infinite
his music and his breath
I came to sing love
and fragility
your mouth red spring
your breasts with salt and equinoxes
and immortality.
Memories of legendary times
A Toothy
the embers of an alphabet disappeared
o Fire
fruit that split to the goddesses
falcon heads
ancient times where we danced naked among the myriad
spiral of the Milky Way
time initiations
virile and solstices
wild feasts when we went to places where nocturnal
reborn
light on the banks of sacred rivers
we climbed from
Finistères
paths through
shifting sands and waves of dream in these times
haloed mystery
peoples obscure signs tattooed purple
Us Currencies
on the wire with
water snakes of the infinite
we have not forgotten how to speak the language
green trees
nor the mockingbirds and
wind made us wings to fly the hippogriff
magnetic storms at this time of moons
prophecies and our wives had huge eyes shone like
where a constellation of mother of pearl beads
creating
Passwords Cristina
Read these suns
fluctuating
on edge
where foraging birds fairy
break any
gap between us and our breaths
with perfumes rare
of loneliness panting
vermilion seal the pact of our eyes
lost wax on our ardent
blinding Hugs
accompany life
to nest at night and we
off in a whirlwind of crazy stars.
The fire of desire
I lived for Sundays sad
tocsins of purple and stormy nights
How to distinguish outside and in? The hem
sleep relaxes
pass between my lips where silences
I have no reason to exist if the world withers
ignorance
I should wander freely through
groves and
fields of country as the seasons turn
I age my desires are rain or shine
age of love, where hordes quench their thirst of life
Only the ashes which the fire resistant bites.
Litteris
We will open new
galaxies at the forefront of our poems
We will open our exiles to
nightlife lights of the earth We will open
what dreams
seal in the enclosures of reason
We will open gestures of prophets
countries destroyed
We will open on the cliffs of gypsum
a road height desires
We will open fire which makes wood
and that water does not tell us
We will discover the major issues
in our deepest sleep
All literature is a theater of signs
between what is thought and accomplished.
Psalm
He does not know that lightning breath
that sticks to the glass like an old dream
within reach Morning
He listens more than stone cold
when you took the time
and he no longer understands
It crosses
things and uses few words to achieve this share
forgetting that swells
It changes the silence in a psalm
absence
and burns to the eyes
distant fires.
Andre Chenet
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