music of spheres

He was walking a frozen road
in his pocket iron keys were jingling
and with his pointed shoe absentmindedly
he kicked the cylinder
of an old can
which for a few seconds rolled its cold emptiness
wobbled for a while and stopped
under a sky studded with stars.

Jean Follain

the human species

The human species has given me
the right to be mortal
the duty to be civilized
a conscience
2 eyes that don’t always function very well
a nose in the middle of my face
2 feet 2 hands
speech

the human species has given me
my father and mother
some brothers maybe who knows
a whole mess of cousins
and some great-grandfathers
the human species has given me
its 3 faculties
feeling intellect and will
each in moderation 32 teeth and 10 fingers a liver
a heart and some other viscera
human species has given me
what I’m supposed to be satisfied with

Raymond Queneau

music

Music often takes me like a sea
and I set out
under mist or a transparent sky
for my pale star;

I run before the wind as if I had
laid on full sail,
climbing the mountainous backs of the waves,
plummeting down

in darkness, eardrums throbbing as I feel
the coming wreck;
fair winds or foul – a raging storm

on the great deep my cradle,
and dead calm the looking-glass
of my despair.

Charles Baudelaire

the cloud

Lightly in the azure air
Soars a cloud, emerging free
Like a virgin from the fair
Blue sea;

Or an Aphrodite sweet,
Floating upright and empearled
In the shell, about its feet
Foam-curled.

Undulating overhead,
How its changing body glows!
On its shoulder dawn hath spread
A rose.

Marble, snow, blend amorously
In that form by sunlight kissed—
Slumbering Antiope
Of mist!

Sailing unto distant goal,
Over Alps and Apennines,
Sister of the woman-soul,
It shines;

Till my heart flies forth at last
On the wings of passion warm,
And I yearn to gather fast
Its form.

Reason saith: “Mere vapour thing!
Bursting bubble! Yet, we deem,
Holds this wind-distorted ring
Our dream.”

Faith declareth: “Beauty seen,
Like a cloud, is but a thought,
Or a breath, that, having been,
Is naught.

“Have thy vision. Build it proud.
Let thy soul be full thereof.
Love a woman—love a cloud—
But love!”

Théophile Gautier