vendredi 28 mars 2014

I permanently wait for your voice -
coming down from telescopes,
from the stars, from the cloudiest or
the sunniest  skies, through mirrors,
through tunnels, through light pannels,
through leap years, it could come.
From anywhere, from every marvel of the world,
From a miracle, unrecognized, unseen.
From the lips I kiss, from time to time,
even from the voice that says:
“I miss You”. Absolutely. From every silence,
from every moment, it could come.
From everywhere. Through sonatas, through thunders
and terrible storms. Through birds chirruping.
From every music and from your breathing…


Memory by Hye Jin Chung




Take off my clothing,
features and pictures,
I don’t want you to see me,
masked as another,
always a daughter of someone
or something. I want you
to see me pure, free
and irreducible: me.
My darling!

I know when I call you,
among all people in the world,
that only you will be you.
And when you ask me
who is calling you, 
who waits for you…
My darling!
I bury nouns, pronouns,
labels, history. I tear apart
all they threw on me
even before I was born.

And finally back in the eternal
anonymity of nakedness,
like a black stone throwned and lost
in the gigantic world,
I will always tell you:
“I love you. Yes, I am the one.”
My darling!

Claes Oldenburg - Free


mercredi 26 mars 2014

THERE

There,
inside the soft cavity of my body,
you burn.
There,
in the space  where the night reigns,
you tremble.
There
in the depth of the broken dream,
you appear.
There
in the name of an ancient God
you beg.
There,
where oblivion arrives in ragged clothes,
I know you.
There,
where our memory has no peace,
we exist.
There,
where our bewildered souls binds one to another,
we lie.
There,
where the thinness of my silence questions you,
we embrace.
There,
where I press my heart
before the flood of words,
we persist.

mercredi 12 mars 2014

Si grand soit le silence

sur nos lèvres 
et nos corps enlacés
qui jamais ne seront monotones

Flor Garduno - Still Life


dimanche 2 mars 2014

Nights

At home in the lamplight,
Time seems frozen and evenings
are lenghtening.
I resemble a little divine statue
and the light includes me only
through the night.
And it is difficult to speak
of the lonely night -
this dark absence of you
to turn away into as if tenderness
didn't tire or die and the crease
in our crumpled sheets
with the familiar place of my sole body.

samedi 1 mars 2014


Damien Hirst, Unique Red Butterfly, c.2008