[Language is an exile At the borders of the moment] Poem by Claude Beausoleil
[Language is an exile At the borders of the moment]
Language is an exile
At the borders of the moment
That contains its form—
Secret, ecstatic and close—
Aura as accessory
Time's words
History and its reasons
Under great pressure of play
Causing an urge
To swallow fire
And I write these words freely
Like a song that prolongs
And invents my life
In a manner of saying
That passion is survived
By a radiant desire
translated by by Suzanne Buffam
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/27/2024 7:02:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Thankyou. A poem depicting the intricacies of langueage and human reality sometimes hard to decipher. Kathy