Yves Bonnefoy


Yves Bonnefoy Poems

1. The Museum 5/20/2016
2. San Biagio, at Montepulciano 5/20/2016
3. They Spoke to Me 5/20/2016
4. The house where I was born (07) 10/23/2017
5. The house where I was born (08) 10/23/2017
6. The house where I was born (09) 10/23/2017
7. THE MIRROR 10/23/2017
8. THE PLOUGH 10/23/2017
9. THE LITTLE BIT OF WATER 10/23/2017
10. Snow 10/23/2017
11. THE VIRGIN OF MERCY 10/23/2017
12. THE GARDEN 10/23/2017
13. THE APPLES 10/23/2017
14. SUMMER AGAIN 10/23/2017
15. It sounds like a lot of silent e's in a sentence 10/23/2017
16. Flakes 10/23/2017
17. DE NATURA RERUM 10/23/2017
18. FINERY 10/23/2017
19. NOLI ME TANGERE 10/23/2017
20. Just before dawn 10/23/2017
21. HOPKINS FOREST 10/23/2017
22. The house where I was born (06) 10/23/2017
23. The house where I was born (10) 10/23/2017
24. The house where I was born (05) 10/23/2017
25. The house where I was born (04) 10/23/2017
26. The house where I was born (03) 10/23/2017
27. The house where I was born (02) 10/23/2017
28. The house where I was born (01) 10/23/2017
29. Passer-By, These Are Words 1/13/2003

Comments about Yves Bonnefoy

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 10:03:00 AM)

    Yves Jean Bonnefoy, poet and essayist, born 24 June 1923; died 1 July 2016.

    “I would like to bring together, almost identify, poetry and hope.” Poet, essayist, art and literary critic, translator and editor, Yves Bonnefoy sought throughout to make clear the ground on which this hopefulness was to be built.

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  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 10:02:00 AM)

    Bonnefoy spent his career contesting the way that we tend to replace the reality of things and other people with an image or concept, which deprives us of a more direct and immediate experience he called the experience of “presence”, in which one has a fleeting apprehension of the essential oneness of all being. Supreme poet of the earth, Bonnefoy sought to bring a world smothered by abstraction back to life:

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 10:01:00 AM)

    God who are not, put your hand on our shoulder,
    Rough-cast our body with the weight of your return,
    Finish blending our souls with these stars,
    These woods, these bird cries, these shadows and these days.
    Give yourself up in us the way fruit tears apart,
    Have us disappear in you. Reveal to us
    The mysterious meaning in what is merely simple
    And would have fallen without fire in words without love.

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (5/15/2018 10:00:00 AM)

    Bonnefoy was elected to the Collège de France in 1981, the first poet since Paul Valéry. Often spoken of as a potential Nobel prizewinner, he received many literary awards, doctorates and other honours.

Best Poem of Yves Bonnefoy

Passer-By, These Are Words

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
...

Read the full of Passer-By, These Are Words

They Spoke to Me

They said to me no, don't take any, no, don't touch, that is burning
hot. No, don't try to touch, to hold, that weighs too much, that
hurts.

They said to me: Read, write. And I tried, I took up a word, but it
struggled, it clucked like a frightened hen, wounded, in a cage of
black straw, spotted with old traces of   blood.

TRANSLATED BY MARY ANN CAWS

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