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Photographie de Carjat, sept-oct 1871
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avé!,l'étoile filante
on my left arm.
Mauvais sang, yeaux bleus
My Little Lovers
A lacrymal tincture washes
The cabbage-green skies:
Under the drooling tree with tender shoots,
Your raincoats
White with special moons
With round eyes
Knock together your kneecaps
My ugly ones!
We loved one another at that time,
Blue ugly one!
We ate soft boiled eggs
And chickweed!
One evening you consecrated me poet,
Blond ugly one:
Come down here, that I can whip you
On my lap;
I vomited your brilliantine,
Black ugly one;
You would cut off my mandolin
On the edge of my brow
Bah! my dried saliva,
Red-headed ugly one
Still infects the trenches
Of your round breast!
O my little lovers,
How I hate you!
Plaster with painful blisters
Your ugly tits!
Trample on my old pots
Of sentiment;
—Up now! be ballerinas for me
For one moment!…
Your shoulder blades are out of joint,
O my loves!
A star on your limping backs,
Turn with your turns!
And yet it is for these mutton shoulders
That I have made rhymes!
I would like to break your hips
For having loved!
Insipid pile of stars that have failed,
Fill the corners!
—You will collapse in God, saddled
With ignoble cares!
Under special moons
With round eyes,
Knock together your kneecaps,
My ugly ones!
Me and the little fella are saying, “G'day to one of the world's great enigmas and finest poets.... long may the mystery survive the man....”
