Dog roses and black briars populate for us the shores of shipwreck. Now they are ripening, these fruits of another shore. And those who have seen him pass will say: who was 65 part 1.
Allait-il seul au feu du jour montrer la pourpre de ses nuits? Did he go alone at dawn to show the purple of his nights?
Sun of being, Prince and Master! At the gait of a binder of sheaves life goes, without hatred or ransom. A child prodigy, he was ably abetted in his early work by his father, an art teacher himself. Inspired by sixteenth-century Italian poets, she often expressed a desire to return to a period in which thought and feeling were melded, before the intervention of the seven- teenth century and what T. Je ne sais pas de qui je suis la proie. Born to a wealthy Parisian family, Pozzi frequented the salons of the time.
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As a result, she lost many of her former friends and contacts, which marked the beginning of a slow decline in her health. He moved from his native Narbonne to Paris in In he moved with his wife to the abbey at Solesmes but frequently returned to Paris. Il neige. Toi, source intarissable de sang. A hand detached from its arm, a free hand, illumined from below by the glow of the hearth— and that innocent empty head smiling at the spider setting forth in the night its useless masterpiece.
The wall and the garden are white, the path black, and the house has given way without a sound. It is snowing. Obscure and complicated accidents take place, impossible to describe. And nevertheless the spirit of order, the even spirit, the spirit common to all despairs is questioning. You, unquenchable source of blood. You, disaster intense with gleams which no surging spring, no cooling glacier will ever try to extinguish with its sap. You, light. You, sinuosity of buried love, hiding.
Ceiling of contradictory ideas. Vertiginous balance of enemy forces. Paths confused in the fray of hair.
Toi, clou de diamant. Sur la route mon ombre me suit, oblique, et me dit que je cours trop vite. You, this morning, totally alone in order, calm, and universal revolution. You, diamond nail. The curve of the night stopped at the thatched cottage which was still lit up, at the edge of the meadow, in front of the forest which was closing its gates.
All the freshness inside. The animals were there only to enliven the landscape while all the rest walked. For everything was walking, except the animals, the landscape and me, who with that statue, more immobile than the other one, was up there, on the pedestal of clouds. The trees are heads, or the heads trees, in any case the heads of the trees threaten me.
And someone comes to let me in. Through the doorway I notice friends who are laughing. Perhaps about me? Is Ajar From the triangle of the sidewalks of the square all the wires start, and the scythe of the rainbow, broken behind the clouds.
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In the center the one who waits, blushes, not knowing where to stand. Everyone is looking and in that same place the wall reveals its wound. Seeking a life of solitude, at the end of the century he moved to the peninsula of Roscanvel, in Brittany, where his daughter, Divine, was born.
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In , under the Occupation, the Nazis looted his home, destroying most of his manuscripts and badly injuring Roux and his daughter. It looks as if each single one has been lit up to see like an eye.
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No sooner has one star or planet vanished than in the manner of a round the next jewelled rhyme arrives. Never any jerkiness, each rhythm always in place. Elle est en vous, pardi! But here back on the velvet is beauty all involved with putting on her dawn blouse. Suddenly the neighbourhood rooster lets forth with a great crow of a rusted key in a lock.
Now at last the Aviary opens up, a vast utterly blank eyelid. No more velvet or jewels, no more swallows or vows, no more rare birds or chickens, no perch, no white path or rose bush, no blouse or beauty, nothing at all—nothing but the great Peacock of Life in all his sapphire glory making a wheel out of our eyes. The splendid Cheek emerges from the hawthorn muslins. Percez le trou solide au plein du mont.
He attended medical school in Brest and went on to become a naval doctor; this led to a post in Tahiti, where he spent two years. His curiosity also took him to China, which provided him with material for his poems.
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Segalen wrote essays on Rimbaud and Gauguin, and provided libretti for his friend Claude Debussy. Funerary Edict Testament divining the imperial tomb. Here the wind and the water in the veins of the earth and the plains of the wind are propitious. This pleasant tomb shall be mine. Extend the long ceremonial way: — animals, monsters, men. There you shall place the lofty crenelated fortress.
pyecordiacotu.cf Carve in the depths of the mountain a hole without weakness. Murez le chemin aux vivants. Certes la mort est plaisante et noble et douce. La mort est fort habitable. I make my way inside. Behold me there. And now close the door, and wall up the space before it. Bar the road to all the living.
I do not lament. I rule with gentleness and my dark palace is pleasing. Indeed death is agreeable and noble and sweet. A place one can dwell in.
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