Hugues C. Pernath Poems

I am not sad, no tenderness attracts me,
No body will ever be able to feel mine
No other ear my confusion, my unease
In the speechless torment of language.
...

I no longer belong but control the trembling
Ablaze and senile, sleepless in the past
In the things that have happened, the things
Of the days, I conjugate the pledges of pain
...

I dwelt in the corridors of come and go
In the boundless dismay of tacky colours
Nothing's still true, no sun splits open.
No son will ever speak in this handful of life
...

In the loveless landscape of my solitude
No movement prevails that calms me, no rest
That consoles or dispatches me like a firstborn.
Proudly my blood translates the signs,
...

As a relative, I have hope in common with no one
With no one the choice of love
With which I live alone, with which I stagger
Moving but subdued by the boundless landscape
...

In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifaction
Of many lives, sometimes the foulness of the source
The lily or the shady foliage.
Sometimes I suspect the trembling of your hands
...

I sought the extremes, both of grief
And of a short name written on many windows.
I closed the rotted shutters of many houses, now, today
And from their forgotten promises and every Judas kiss
...

After this night, my lack of faith, the creaking
Of this constant silence, this breaking
This revering. This very last attempt suppressed
By no word, no testament against time.
...

I abhor the shame, the shudder of the past
When everything was more than being and nothing else.
When each moment unmoved, became the movement
That must repeat what once was hushed up
...

Perhaps my choice, my eternity
That lasts no longer than recommencing,
Than banishing, petrifying of the roots.
Sometimes I look at you, sometimes at you.
...