Friday, November 8, 2013


You hold on like no other
You were caught as you came out of life
To re-enter it
I don’t know if it’s in one direction or in another that you shake the garden gate
You have raised up to your heart the serpentine grass
And forever curled the birds of paradise in the hoarse sky
Your gaze is clairvoyant
You are seated
And we too are seated
The skull for a few more days
In the dip of our features
All our acts are before us
At arm’s length
In the little ones’ vine tendril
You are feeding us a line on existentialism
There are no flies on you

André Breton, Korwar (ca. 1947), Trans. Mary Anne Caws and Jean-Pierre Cauvin, from Fata Morgana.



  1. One thing remains to be counted on, Andre.
    The average top of the weather is that far away.
    And that is all you need to think.
    And that is all you think to say.

    1. As Peter Tosh would say, "Seen." I only discovered Eric Sloane's work and history recently. He's really something. Curtis