Le Plaisir

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Yet the honesty of their feelings
cherishing vague hopes.
The boundless silence
He was so kind as to make you cry.
go on dancing.

Unless God calls to me
My dimpled arms,
He kisses my hand.
He swore fidelity to her
He hated nudes.

searching and picking up the scent.
The monotonous sound of the sea…
with insults and recriminations.
in the dark
from the bottom of my heart.

the eternal drama
It vanished behind tall trees
The doctor pondered
was almost religious.
I’ll have to cut him free.

A sailor brought a note.
that enveloped us
drowned in the blue.
let him whisper dirty talk
sweet and penetrating

from a wax museum.
drawn by a white horse.
She’ll wait.
silently penetrated
By the Opera,

I love how you move.
The crowd poured in
due to her hip movements.
Soon all were sobbing
It split the walls

the mighty breath
his eyes shining with content.
They lie without knowing
Children need Religion
in their Sunday best and…

the pale after-glow of dawn.
due to the morning’s emotions.
like a torrent
among the yellow and green crops
my darling.

The girls were lost in clouds
Boredom had made them bitter.
No, she has insomnia.
the tiny lantern announced
and bathed our minds in happiness.

Girls in common cotton
with their scents and pomades.
Solitude is tragic. Isn’t it?
and her divine waist.
that had languished

We were walking in the forest,
Her legs were smashed.
I’m worried because my tales are old
and omnipotent.
in the radiant sky

The stairs were gummy.
hateful and stupid
but in a harmony
The foam on the crests of the waves!
Rosa only stopped drinking to sing

Well, he believed he loved her.
her childlike, sensual face,
He danced awkwardly.
for those in the Jupiter Room.
Not true death. A moral burial.

A bit tragic,
not due to physical hunger
That’s the hard part.
playing with greyhounds.
The tale is told

In their midst appeared a man,
He’s found love, fame and fortune.
the emanation of a soul,
Then where are you going?
in the air only to die away,

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Pather Panchali

Pather Panchali (1955 India) Directed by Satyajit Ray Shown: Subir Bannerjee

Can you plait four strands?
those words again…
something to tide you over
Mother Goddess, counsel me,
You are not always here

a pair of thieves
were writers, after all
The nine gems
your slate with you
without letters

Whatever God wills is for the best
night’s mantle descends
reciting from the scriptures
Rain, rain, go away…
What lovely beads

We’ll go and see the train
somewhere else to go
He took my silver paper
some molasses
and poems

rehashing old stories
If the fever continues to increase,
I shall cut out your tongue …
The sweet-seller
apply cold compresses

Mother sends these vegetables.
your eyes peeled for her
May I live in happiness
Why is it never her turn
The house will be repaired…

Day draws to its close,
then I have much to tell you
manuscripts are worm eaten
beyond the rice fields
…sounds like thunder

Dressing up as a prince
the means to repair it
And at midnight the ogress
…performing religious rites
A pity; I thought we might

Whims?
He wants me to baptise them
for generations
The children need new clothes
in comfort, free of debt

I had dreams, too, of all the things
The garden isn’t ours
If we had the orchard now
Halva, fudge, coconut cakes
what women are like

as a priest in his household
I’ve forgotten
nothing for you in the past
living in the forest
This is my home, too

Over the big meadow,
new material
I feel so ashamed
There are so many thieves about
Look, there’s father

The string could have broken
It’s my shawl for the evenings
Now write the word… wealth
…and throw it to the jackals
Do not worry

Like mother, like daughter:
Fruit has no name on it
No matter what people say…
Come here
I am left behind,

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Europe ’51

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You are not alone.
Breaks my heart to see you looking like this.
and the hospital expenses.
a world I had no idea existed.
when she was sad…
and we’ll wrap you up in it.

Nevertheless, there are loves
They ran away. I ran after them.
They steal everything around here.
this necessity we feel to change people.
that mountains can be moved.
Sometimes…

Nobody says the truth.
I’ve been imagining all sorts
It’s lots of fun. And so realistic.
like being condemned.
if I’d said one word instead of another,
caused by an unforeseen

Real love.
Make it go backwards.
I must know.
To poison the hearts
of your interests.
a series of images drawn in ink…

But in the meantime he’s breaking
too long to explain.
alone with your sorrow.
These things happen to children,
You have opened my eyes…
It’s horrible to say so,

and I grasp each little discovery
Six.
together to get warm.
the sedative we gave him
all my life’s been a mistake.
torture yourself this way.

Terrible. He tried to kill himself.
And this is my paradise.
Irene. Irene, darling.
You see how tragic it is…
At her age, she flew all the way…
Speaking. Oh.

She was an actress.
in some sort of mental institution.
Yes. A little thinner, maybe.
Let me explain to you, Mother.
the air-raid sirens…
with suspicion and dismay.

Fractures of this kind
for your own good.
Ah, I love them so much.
I put them in the coat pocket.
Down by the river.
until it embraces everyone.

all the evil in this world…
one of these sleeping pills too.
out of the hate I feel for myself.
I’ll stay with you.
fly, fly, fly, fly.
just as we are..

a loving, dominating desire
Then a great light fills us…
Something eternal.
your old nurse back again.
but that boy still beats me.
so many things to look after.

It… It was a blood clot.
A vertebra.
A totem.
unusually sensitive children…
or, rather, ink spots.
Oh, nothing, nothing. Don’t worry.

the house seems very empty.
A kind of mysterious force…
To me you seem like a foreigner.
Here, the soap.
of those who suffer…
It would take so little.

Take the child.
He always gets too close to me.
that it has spread to both lungs.
and understood so many things…
and applied a cast.
fanatically a religion

Humble in the same way.
Worked in a circus or something.
of his own free will.
a hard time understanding him
you’ve hardly said two words to her.
to ourselves and others.

 

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Pickpocket

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It’s you she needs.
All that’s left.
In any case,
I have explained.
That idea is unbearable.

I’ll let you in.
I need nothing.
I was running. I fell.
These supermen of yours.
and a mother who walks out on you,

I’ve confessed everything.
and not worth the risk.
placing all the burden on you.
They hanged thieves back then.
You see me living

and freely.
Deceiving a man your whole life,
I went home only to sleep.
The watch was beautiful.
and the strange paths it takes,

It couldn’t last.
in my hands.
They’re wide open.
We must leave one another.
That’s the world upside down.

Papers, letters, a few photos.
Their conscience.
that he would slip into pockets.
Scared.
Toying with me,

Now, it’s prison.
No, not enough.
Why were my eyes glued
I was walking on air,
three of us, not two.

absorbed in your books.
Which fingers should I use?
Not all theft is so serious.
There were other ways.
My heart pounded

A finger circles the strap
Using image and sound,
He made hooks
It’s you she needs.
drifting and penniless.

You’re all I have.
These walls, these bars
A Nuremberg cutler
A high fever
my thoughts in order.

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Marie for Memory

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Jesus is possessed.
you want to have his child
My soul is an open sky
We like your violence a lot.
prophetic things.

who knows about my illness.
how it will end.
Cold and film.
of troubles.
an eternal state.

I have never talked
and nothing will happen.
Our books are not interesting.
hurt me with your reproaches.
as soon as possible.

Why should I make love to you?
You spin and spin
that makes us blind.
The pain will come in waves,
absence in this world,

the one who turns to you.
moon, aquarium,
and the way to prove you exist
I wanted to commit suicide
Because only the rapture

Every cloud has a silver lining,
Explanations that diminish
Your flowers are not beautiful.
that makes us blind.
and bleeding world.

psychoanalyst
understand each other.
You are filled, closed.
Solitude is
on the day I was born.

a part of you.
dreams to be a Chinese philosopher.
She told us about her fears
Numbers. Numbers can express almost
this illusion,

Perfect. The young man
but I see that you are suicidal.
Jesus was sometimes telling
to his own likeness
I want my baby.

the essence and the form,
Now there are two of you.
Starting tomorrow we’ll part
Still nothing.
you believed…

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Night and Fog

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All this is women’s hair.
Arid land
the illusion of real illness
Grass has returned faithfully
Numbered.

needless operations,
and the hope of a real bed,
Nearby,
nudity immediately strips
what remains of it.

As I speak to you now,
hands wrapped in bandages
eat their dressings.
the mind works on
his victims for the day.

amid barking dogs
eager to inspect and bully.
Don’t gesture to the gods.
They make spoons
unfathomable

An SS doctor.
20 strokes of the cane.
Weeds cover the paths
Some might think of God.
one eye still open.

But words fail.
But then doesn’t everybody?
the denunciations and curses,
lies crushed beneath the rubble.
One spoonful less,

The same ointment is used
as the image recedes,
tongues have fallen silent.
The flesh of some
self-contained universe

a night of chattering teeth.
suffocation, madness.
A menacing nurse.
Boxes.
A zoo.

the orders
a bit like a postcard.
Burned with phosphorus.
as our own faulty memory.
No day, no night.

Today tourists have their picture
scratched by fingernails.
from the original 35 mm negative
The blood has dried up,
Who among us keeps watch

An orphanage, transient
No current runs through the wires.
in a nocturnal spectacle
Monsters.
with a heartfelt gaze,

Soup.
endless fear.
bound by towers
protected from ricochets.
with the red triangle answer

their sacrificial ground.
no description, no image
It’s another planet.
shaped by terror,
Convoys lose their way,

 

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Mademoiselle

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They can smell him on their wives.
Poor thing. What a life.
Cruel.
and now this flood.

and forests blaze.
The bathtub holds…
I heard someone whistling.
We’re finished.

the Holy Virgin today.
tied up with a bit of string.
Ever since his mother died,
my sewing machine.

He wouldn’t abandon his son.
Farewell, bright warmth
Once I can understand,
Answer me.

We’ll find your father.
and watch him slowly burn to death.
That is, when things are normal.
He outshone the fire.

Two full rosaries. He’s in a bad mood.
bedecked with gold and pearls.
we will plunge ourselves
There’s nothing else to do.

You know something.
Let’s all recite
It’s nothing.
tomorrow morning.

Carry me on your shoulders.
…and hang him, alive, over a furnace…
Six times one is six.
And you know why.

I found him today in the sun.
Touch him.
That path leads to the forest,
Chastity can be a source of virtue.

They were imprisoned in cells.
Somebody opened the sluice gate.
she’s almost beautiful.
It’s staring you in the face.

Now those buds will never bear apples.
The fire seemed as if it was made for him.
I prayed for the victims.
at the rate of one liter per second…

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