Drop by drop
The habit of loving
The sap of fatigue
The torrents of sleep
In the pit of nefarious plans
If I had to give over the secret of the past
I would no longer fear the heaviness of blood
Being alone
Sharpens revelations on the edges of the wind
Weak and ugly
I sleep in gutters
Doubled, exposed to the weather
To the barbs of fate
To the blows of fortune
The bubbles of dark days burst in my hands
Life trembles irresolute on the edge of each sheet
Along the borders of the morning
I no longer take a turn
The forms of hatred
Cheeks bulging with fire
These starving ovens
When love enlightened breathes on bitterness
And dances on the dream-rope of nothingness
Pierre L’Abbé is a translator, a publisher, and the author of poetry and short story collections. He lives in Toronto.
When I began generating images for this Reverdy poem my focus was ‘self’ seeing ‘self.’ I wondered also if the poem was historical. I pictured incidents from World War Two. Or maybe psychological? The poem seemed to present an existentialism assuaged with the balm of cathartic love. And then because, coincidentally, I assembled this page on Easter Sunday, I considered (perhaps outlandishly) this being a dialogue between Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. In two voices. An end to their metaphysical, sexual, emotional love. Hmm…perhaps too literal. I wasn’t sure where metaphor began and personal voice ended. This began a chain of associations concerning language, representation, authenticity, double-identity, etc… and I was back at the idea of ‘self’ (whatever that is) seeing ‘self.’ You know that feeling you have when you look in a mirror? You know it’s you but you’re not quite sure who ‘you’ is. You see yourself experiencing an image of your self. So, as you can see, the poem presented a host of interpretive challenges. Pierre L’Abbe would know far more than me about this poem’s purpose. As always, I went with my intuitive response in creating images. In this case a face and a figure interact while constantly transforming.
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