Salvador Dalí, “Geopoliticus” Child Watching the Birth of the New Man, 1943
there’s nothing left to undress but the nose
a trinket the size of a dime, really, an anthill
of cosmic reconstruction
a single-celled dinosaur and the fracture
in a memory that’s sent tumbling from
its axis like the ribs off a sleeping bull
{the earth doesn’t get to watch
as miracles are born but
only contracts and expands
in proportion to our consciousness}
like a vacant spindle that spins the centerpiece
of a woman on an unfinished brow,
breasts like two floating castles,
arcs of passive light under one
forgiving sun
in the flesh, in the corridors of a mirror,
in the greedy hands of every overripe dreamer is
a woman who bears witness but
bears often not less than a seed
of truth as silent as an eggshell
in the middle of this is nowhere…
{there is a voice louder than words
that infuses all language with meaning}
and for every voice that extinguishes
meaning there is another tongue
abraded by a yoke of silence
more terrifying than time
(or history)
like a star that’s been flattened
by the reflection
of its own sun
{the most chaotic among us have a
knife in every fight but only one enemy}
there is no enemy
without the possibility
of rebirth
J’ai toujours trouvé ta poésie exquise. J’aime votre langage fabuleux et précis, juste et avec un usage magique du mot. Et j’aime la façon dont vous enchaînez des images, des idées et des sentiments qui surgissent les uns des autres ciselés sous la forme d’un regard, mais pas à la demande d’une impossibilité, mais dans la contemplation de votre propre vie.
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Merci beaucoup, Xyz. Dans des poèmes comme celui-ci, l’œuvre d’art laisse une image, une empreinte, au fond de mon esprit. C’est toujours l’impression esthétique globale que je veux communiquer. Et Dali me transporte toujours dans un monde rempli d’impressions dynamiques et surprenantes. 🙂
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“the most chaotic among us have a
knife in every fight but only one enemy”
Damn. . .
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Glad it intrigued you 🙂
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Within dreams foetal
the ancient pathways
. . . a silent portal
The New Man
with schemes immortal
loudly tweets of plans grand
The Universe chuckless
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…the New Man sets his eyes to pearls
through a stream of tweets like empty eggshells
or the toll of a bell on a broken glass
an analogue for chaos and a weeping reprieve
as Maestro Salvador, no less than a
pinch in the atmosphere,
straddles both time and space
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With Ego-A-Go-Go on show
that kick inside
of a bewildered child bride
All things bright and beautiful
of the Maestro’s pallet
confiscated and put aside
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I’m hyperrealistically sure
that Salvador would’ve loved this
. . . and more 😎
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Thank you ☺️
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