Passer-by, these are words. But instead of reading
I want you to listen: to this frail
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass.
Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee
Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.
It flits between two sprays of leaves,
Carrying the sound of branches that are real
To those that filigree the still unseen.
Then know an even fainter sound, and let it be
The endless murmuring of all our shades.
Their whisper rises from beneath the stones
To fuse into a single heat with that blind
Light you are as yet, who can still gaze.
May your listening be good! Silence
Is a threshold where a twig breaks in your hand,
Imperceptibly, as you attempt to disengage
A name upon a stone:
And so our absent names untangle your alarms.
And for you who move away, pensively,
Here becomes there without ceasing to be.
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass The endless murmuring of all our shades Silence is a threshold where a twig breaks in your hand Beuatifull examples of surrealist imagery.. unfortunately rare today... Thanks for choosing!
With the use symbolic and imagery language one can derive the love and friendship theme from this poem. I like the way language is used.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Yves Bonnefoy died. Let's remember him with his wonderful philosophical poem 'Passerby, Do You Want to Know? '