THEATER
I.
I dream of a Theater,
where Breughel painted the shutters.
Where Shakespeare enchanted palates,
and Watteau, brushed with his color of amber.
Sensitive to the colder evenings of December,
I am heating my purple fingers.
I dream of a theater of chambers
enthusiastically enjoying ginger.
One could view there such ugly Crispin
cushioning one’s emaciated calves.
For Colombine who is slightly cambered
I dream of a theater of chambers.
DECORATION
II.
Great birds of crimson and gold
these precious floating gems.
The installation of Breughel, with his fairy tales told
fall onto the blue trees of this decoration.
They vibrate yonder with their wide elevation
throwing a shadow on the fabric of a duping gammon in the meadows.
Great birds of crimson and gold
these gorgeous floating gems.
Sun pockets stream forward
from its yellow rays.
The green azure from the ranch’s flowers
glisten as his light still raises
the large birds of crimson and gold.
THE DANDY
III.
With an extravagant beam of light
the moon irradiates the translucent flacons
on the sanctified ebony commode
of the demure dandy from Bergamo.
In the resonant bronze basin
a water jet snickers sparklingly with a discordant tone.
With an extravagant beam of light
the moon irradiates the translucent flacons.
Pierrot with his ghostly face
stands pensively and ponders; how shall my make-up look today?
He nudges his red and oriental green aside
and portrays his face in a noble style
with an extravagant beam of moonlight.
DISSAPPOINTMENT
IV.
Guests, fork in hand,
were seen stealing more liters.
Roasts, torts, oysters,
they ate while consuming quince jams.
Du Gilles, hidden in a corner,
portrayed the grimacing clowns.
Guests, fork in hand,
were seen stealing more liters.
The bachelor was with the lazy worker
stroking her skirt on her hips.
Under the passage very close to the kiss of branches,
he extended his linen lit
like a pale field of lavender.
AN ANEMIC WASHERWOMAN
V.
An anemic washerwoman
washes pale fabric during nightfall.
She stretches her bare frosty arms
downward into the rippling water.
Winds slink by through the clearance
Tenderly they ruffle the stream
An anemic washerwoman
washes pale fabric during nightfall.
And the delicate damsel of heaven
Gracefully exalted from the boughs
Spreads out across the darkened grasslands
Her linens spun with light-
An anemic washerwoman
SERENADE
VI.
With a gigantically grotesque bow
Pierrot scratches on his viola
Like a stork on one leg
he sorrowfully picks pizzicato.
Suddenly Cassander advances enraged
over the nocturnal virtuoso.
With a gigantically grotesque bow
Pierrot scratches on his viola
He disposes violently his viola
and with his sensitive left hand
he snatches the man by his collar.
Whimsically he plays on his bald head
with a gigantically grotesque bow.
LYRICAL KITCHEN
VII.
The Moon, this yellow omelette,
beaten with large golden eggs.
At the bottom of the black autumn she falls asleep,
and in the panels is reflected.
Pierrot, in his white toilet,
is known to guard the roof, near the edge.
The moon, this yellow omelette,
beaten with large golden eggs.
Wrinkled like an over-ripe apple,
Pierrot is extremely agitated
waving his skillet with an abrupt reaction!
‘Believe me! I can throw you into the sky to pierce
the moon, this yellow omelette.
HARLIQUINADE
VIII.
Our harlequin wears a rainbow
Red and green silks he trades.
He appears in a fairy tale with
an artificial snake.
Having an exclusive purpose
of lying and cheating.
Our harlequin wears a rainbow
Red and green silks he trades.
With a yellow animosity Cassander
is counting his lords
while in Spain wearing its coat of arms.
Because on the bottom of the azure and honey
our harlequin wears a rainbow.
POLAR PIERROT
IX.
The sparkling polar ice,
a sharp cold light.
Stopping is Pierrot, exhausted
who wants to slow his rowboat down.
Then fixes an eye which radiates
as his spontaneous rescuer
The sparkling polar ice,
a sharp cold light.
Then the sinister MIME
believed seeing Pierrot disguised.
With her white immortalized gesture
she challenges, in the clear night,
the sparkling polar ice.
COLUMBINE
X.
The moonshine’s pale blossoms
The silvery wonder-roses
are blooming in this July night.
O, if I could only pluck one.
To relieve my restless sorrow
I search along this darkened stream
The moonshine’s pale blossoms
The silvery wonder-roses
All my desire would be fulfilled
If I was allowed to stealthily- like in a fairy tale
so euphorically tenderly scatter
onto your gorgeous brown hair the petals of
the moonshine’s pale blossoms.
THE VERY THIN HARLEQUIN
XI.
Brilliant as a solar spectrum,
Here, the very thin Harlequin,
creases the short gown
of the servant of moods.
To diminish his anger,
he makes the glitter shine.
Brilliant as a solar spectrum,
Here, the very thin harlequin.
The old woman, pocketing her wages,
delivered Columbine to the impostor
who on the big turquoise-blue sky
takes form and sings expressions
as brilliant as a solar spectrum.
HEAVENLY FLUCUATING FISH
XII.
With splendid fins
are the heavenly fluctuating fish
The clouds are abundant with
gold, nacre and ivory.
They are iridescent in the face of glory.
Dying suns are plunging.
With splendid fins
are the heavenly fluctuating fish.
Nonetheless the night with his black boats,
is heaving distressed fishers
who, in their emerging nets,
capture their wavy memoirs
with splendid fins.
WITH MY COUSIN OF BERGAMO
XIII.
We are relatives of the Moon,
Pierrot Bergamasque and I,
Because I feel a pale agitation,
when she looks after the brown night.
At the foot of a red platform,
she charged her gestures with a king:
We are relatives of the Moon,
Pierrot Bergamasque and I.
I have glow-worms for fortune;
I live by drawing like you,
My tongue was bleeding with the law,
and the words imposed on me.
We are relatives of the Moon!
THEIVERY
XIV.
Red royal rubies
Bloody driblets of ancient glory
Slumber in the caskets
deep within the tomb.
Nocturnally together with his drinking comrades
Pierrot decides to swoop down and rob
The red royal rubies
Bloody driblets of ancient glory
All of a sudden they are scared to death
Pale angst glues them to the spot
Through the nightly gloom like living eyes
they stare out of the casket- –
Red royal rubies
PIERROT IS BORED
XV.
Pierrot of Bergamo is bored:
He abandons the charms of flight;
His strange mood of madness,
like a white bird, escapes to the east.
The spleen, on a horizon of residue,
ferments a black alcohol.
Pierrot of Bergamo is bored:
He abandons the charms of flight.
The Essence of the sympathetic nerve of the Moon
irk her tears of light and she has taken wing.
Clouds on the ground
add the song of the rain.
Pierrot of Bergamo is bored.
DRUNKEN IN THE MOONLIGHT
XVI.
The wine which one drinks with one’s eyes
with green waves flows down from the moon at night.
It then submerges and swells
onto a quiescent horizon.
Desires so thrilling and tantalizing
swim countlessly through the waters.
The wine which one drinks with one’s eyes
with green waves flows down from the moon at night.
The devoted and dedicated poet
is intoxicated from this divine elixir
enchanted he glances to the heavens
staggering and sipping like a suckling
the wine which one drinks with one’s eyes.
THE SLENDER HARLOT
XVII.
The promiscuous slender harlot
with her long sumptuous neck
will be Pierrot’s last beloved.
Craving her with an uncontrollable passion
The promiscuous slender harlot
with her long sumptuous neck
Delicate and sensual
with a tiny braid along her neck
Fervidly she will hug the charlatan’s neck
the promiscuous slender harlot.
SUICIDE
XVIII.
The Moon in her white dress
Pierrot laughed with his bloody laugh.
His drunken gesture becomes disconcerting:
It ferments the Sunday wine.
On the ground he dragged his sleeve;
He plants a nail in the white wall:
The Moon in her white dress
Pierrot laughed with his bloody laugh.
It is as frightening as an eclipse,
Appearing on his collar, a racing knot,
Turning over the shaking stools
Draw the tongue, and sway,
The Moon in her white dress
BLACK MOTHS
XIX.
Sinister gigantic black moths
Obliterate the rays from the Sun
Liked an unopened book of satanic spells
the horizon is still and muted.
Oozing out of a vapor from the abyss
is an aroma annihilating all of me
Sinister gigantic black moths
Obliterate the rays from the Sun
Originating in the sky flying earthwards
are the monsters seeking blood
Landing on human hearts
Sinister gigantic black moths
SUNSET
XX.
The Sun has opened his veins
on a mattress of scarlet clouds.
His blood, through a funnel of holes
ejaculates like crimson fountains.
The convulsive branches of the mighty oaks
flagellate preposterous horizons.
The Sun has opened his veins
on a mattress of scarlet clouds.
As if after the Roman shame,
full of debauchery and overflowing with disgust
he departs to filthy outhouses
bleeding from his sickly arteries.
The Sun has opened his veins.
THE SICK MOON
XXI.
You moon so woesome and ready to die
on the black cushion in the sky.
Your yearning eyes with a feverish expression
Seduce me like a musical rhapsody.
You are slowly dying from a sorrowfully broken heart
Dying in loneliness gasping to breathe
You moon so woesome and ready to die
on the black cushion in the sky.
The inamorato who is fleeting ecstatically
to his lover in waiting is entertained by your beams.
In contrast is your white blood and melancholic persona
You moon so woesome and ready to die
WORMWOOD
XXII.
In an immense sea of wormwood
I discover drunken countries,
with capricious and senseless skies
Like a pregnant woman’s desire.
There are rolling waves
with tariffs and greenish velvety rhythms:
In an immense sea of wormwood
I discover drunken countries.
However suddenly, my boat is under pressure
from viscous but spongy octopi:
In the midst of a sticky passage
I disappear, without complaint,
In an immense sea of wormwood
BEGGAR for HEADS
XXIII.
A filled red basket with sound
Balance your contracted hand
Insane you escaped the guillotine,
Who leaves now in front of the prison?
Your voice which begs has the sound
The block that cuts the sword:
A filled red basket with sound
Balance your contracted hand
Tormented! Who wants a ransom
the blood, the murder, the epic?
You tend to cut off heads
while spitting their last song!
A filled red basket with sound
THE BEHEADING
XXIV.
The Moon is like a silver scimitar
on a dark cushion of rippled silk.
Spectrally immense she shouts down threats
from a freakishly fantastic peeling sky.
Pierrot saunters restlessly
Glimpsing upward with grievous anguish
The Moon is like a silver scimitar
on a dark cushion of rippled silk.
He is trembling while kneeling,
and falls suddenly into unconsciousness.
In his subconscious he imagines his punishment
whooshing down upon his sinful neck.
The Moon is like a silver scimitar
RED and WHITE
XXV.
A brutal and red tongue,
with its salivating flesh of blood
Like an blushing flash
surpassing his bloodless face.
His pale face is a coating
where this ribbon comes out with a blade:
A brutal and red tongue,
with its salivating flesh of blood.
A revolving body which tilts
is similar to a white lifting ship
with a dazzling central mast.
His house is the color mango:
A brutal and red tongue!
WALTZ OF CHOPIN
XXVI.
Like bloody saliva,
which colors an ailing woman’s lips
he is beguiled from music
and is seduced with a hunger for decimation.
Bizarre chords of reckless abandon disturb
his frozen nightmare of desperation
like bloody saliva
which colors an ailing woman’s lips.
Blazing and ecstatically luscious a languishing
melancholic somber waltz
lingers in my ears and leaves me a physical flavor
with a tasteless disconcerting after taste
like bloody saliva.
THE CHURCH
XXVII.
In the fragrant church with sinks
as a ray from the moon enters
through the faded glass, –
Pierrot clarifies the half-light.
He goes to the choir which flows
with a look of inspiration.
In the fragrant church with sinks
as a ray from the moon enters.
Suddenly candles without a number,
are shedding tears because the evening expires
bleeding upon a pictorial furnace bridge.
Like the wounds of the Shadows
in the fragrant church with sinks.
THE MADONNA
XXVIII.
O Madonna of hysteria
Climb onto the bridge of the stove of my worms
Blood from your slender breasts
has fallen by the furor of the sword.
Your eternal glistening wounds
resemble rouge eyes widely open.
O Madonna of hysteria
Climb onto the bridge of the stove of my worms
From your long impoverished hands,
You strive for the incredulous universe
Your sons, with other gullible members,
have their flesh falling and rotten.
O Madonna of hysteria.
RED MASS
XXIX.
For the hideous Eucharist
with a glittering shining gold
and candles with disconcerting fires,
Pierrot departs the sacristy.
His hand, consecrated to God
shreds the priestly garments
For the hideous Eucharist
with a glittering shining gold.
With a great gesture of condonation
he reveals to the trembling faithful
his heart between his bloody fingers,
as a dripping red host
for the hideous Eucharist.
THE CROSSES
XXX.
Stanzas are holy crosses
on which poets quietly bleed to death.
They lose their sight because of a quivering
ghastly swarm of hungry vultures.
With swords, their cold corpses
have delighted in festivals of blood’s scarlet.
Stanzas are holy crosses
on which poets quietly bleed to death.
They have departed and have stiffened their tresses
far away from crowds to the clamor of animals.
Adjusting the suns on their heads
like a red royal crown.
Stanzas are holy crosses.
PRAYER TO PIERROT
XXXI.
Pierrot! The spring of laughter,
Between my teeth, I broke it:
Clear decoration has been erased
in a mirage of Shakespeare.
With the mast of my sad ship
is a black flag hoisted.
Pierrot! The spring of laughter,
Between my teeth, I broke it:
When will you come back to me, lyre bird,
healer of the wounded spirit?
Adorable snows of the past,
face of the Moon, white lord of lyricism
O Pierrot! Raise my spirit with laughter!
MOON VIOLIN
XXXII.
The trembling heart of the violin,
full of silence and harmony,
Dreaming in its varnished box
Dreams of languish so disconcerting.
Who will make an arm
vibrate in the infinite night?
The trembling heart of the violin
full of silence and harmony?
The Moon, a medium and soothing ray,
with the sweetness of anguish.
Cherished is his irony,
with a bright silvery arc
the trembling heart of the violin.
STORKS
XXXIII.
You melancholic birds, our storks
whitish on the black horizon,
highlight the ratios and rhythms of the evening
slamming your starveling nozzles.
They saw the oblique lights
from a great sun of despair.
You melancholic birds, our storks
whitish on the black horizon.
A pond with metallic eyes
invert like a vague mirror.
What is the day that comes from stumbling?
Shine forth transcendental relics,
you melancholic birds, our storks.
HOMESICKNESS
XXXIV.
Lovingly lamenting is the sigh so crystalline
from the Comedia dell’arte’s pantomime.
The sound rings out that Pierrot has become
wooden-hearted and sentimentally slow.
This sound travels through his heart’s wastelands
reverberating through all his senses.
Lovingly lamenting is the sigh so crystalline
from the Comedia dell’arte’s pantomime.
He unlearned his fatal airs and dejected expressions.
Through the moon’s pale firelight
and through waves of luminosity
his regret goes beyond the native sky.
Lovingly lamenting is the sigh so crystalline.
O ANCIENT FRAGRANCE
XXXV.
O ancient fragrance from an epic age of legends
Once again you inebriate my senses
A host of tricksters play a round of merry pranks
fleeting through the evening’s breeze.
The desire has been finally realized
Things I held long in contempt render me joyful
O ancient fragrance from an epic age of legends
Once again you inebriate my senses.
I lost my ill humor.
It flew out my sunshine-framed window.
I now can freely observe this cherished world
and my fantasy can travel into far-away places.
O ancient fragrance from an epic age of legends.
THE JOURNEY HOME
XXXVI.
A ray of the moon is the oar
A white water lily, the boat
Upon it Pierrot travels southward
wafted by a wind returning home again.
The river is humming lower scales
and rocks the little raft.
A ray of the moon is the oar
A white water lily, the boat
Off to Bergamo his residence
Pierrot will soonly arrive
in the east on the emerald horizon
and already visible is the pale daybreak.
A ray of the moon is the oar.
MIME
XXXVII.
Absurd and sweet as a lie
Adornments in blue air
with the mimes of an old drama
opening with the vagueness of a dream.
In the vaporous distances plunge
fibers of leaded air.
Absurd and sweet as a lie
Adornments in blue air
Pierrot strikes with long blows
Cassandra the Academician,
and a red magician
at the end of a table.
Absurd and sweet as a lie
THE FLECK ON THE MOON
XXXVIII.
A white fleck from the bright moonlight
on the back of his black coat.
Thus Pierrot wanders on a balmy evening
searching for adventure and good fortune.
Abruptly he was bothered by something upon his clothing
He inspected himself all over and promptly found
a white fleck from the bright moonlight
on the back of his black coat.
He thinks that it is a stain from plaster
and wipes and cleans but it doesn’t disappear.
So he continues to walk swollen with a venomous anger.
He scrubs and rubs until the lark announces morning.
A white fleck from the bright moonlight.
THE ALPHABET
XXXIX.
A multicolored alphabet,
The letter of each letter was a mask
It was very odd, in alphabetical order
I wrote during my childhood.
Very long, I remembered,
better than my sabers and my helmet,
a multicolored alphabet
the letter of each letter was a mask.
Today, my enjôlé heart,
is vibrating like a tambourine,
dreams of a Harlequin Bergamasque
and traces a rainbow body with
a multicolored alphabet.
CROWDED WHITENESSES
XL.
The whiteness of the snow and the swans,
The whiteness of the Moon and the Lily,
You were, at the time abolished,
by Pierrot’s Pale Panels!
It is dedicated to beautiful signs
with the buried fairies.
The whiteness of the snow and the swans,
The whiteness of the Moon and the Lily!
I have contempt for unworthy things.
You do not like softened hearts
are the precepts that I read
in the triumph of your lines.
Snow, Wounds and Swans.
PINK DUST
XLI.
A fine pink dust
dances on the morning horizon.
A very gentle remote orchestra
plays an air from Cimarosa.
Phoebe, like a white rose,
is death in the doubtful sky.
A fine pink dust
dances on the morning horizon.
In front is Cassis morose
with Fuits a faîbala in satin.
Who crosses while passing by the thyme?
Let a new morning’s dew spread,
a fine pink dust.
PARODY
XLII.
Knitting needles
in her old gray wig,
The duenna, in her cherry casaquin
doesn’t get tired of the marmot.
She waits in the vineyard,
She is painfully in love with Pierrot
Knitting needles
in her old gray wig.
Suddenly, he intends to burst
pointing at the whistle in the breeze.
The Moon is a spiteful mocker
and its rays seem to imitate
knitting needles that glitter and gleam.
THE MOON MOCKER
XLIII.
The Moon draws a horn
in the transparency of blue.
With Cassander we made this piece
to hide his tricorn.
The old man walks dulled
bringing back his lost hair.
The Moon draws a horn
in the transparency of blue.
A fabulous unicorn,
whose nostrils throw fire
is spontaneously mixing for his emu.
Cassander is sitting at a terminal.
The Moon draws a horn.
THE LANTERN
XLIV.
The translucent and cheerful lantern,
has a tongue of fire that vibrates.
Pierrot at the door at the end of a pile
did not drop into the tank.
Every street corner, a lantern
and on the ground it exceeds a bit.
The translucent and joyful lantern
has a tongue of fire that vibrates.
Pierrot no longer seems to prostrate.
Turning on a small blue dot
from his match, and, by play,
seeks a gesture of consternation.
The translucent and joyful lantern
FOUL PLAY
XLV.
Into the glossy head of Cassander
whose screams pierce the air.
Pierrot who is full of hypocrisy
inserts mildly a drilling trephine.
Afterwards with his thumb
he crams his authentic Turkish tobacco
into the glossy head of Cassander
whose screams pierce the air.
Then he screws a cherry-wood pipe
into the rear of his polished bald head
and leisurely smokes and puffs
his authentic Turkish tobacco
out of the glossy head of Cassander.
DÈCOR
XLVI.
The sun, like a large pink egg,
illuminates the gray horizon.
Stunted tree trunks
delete the morose setting.
In the slow metamorphosis
of long and tangy landscapes,
the sun, like a large pink egg,
illuminates the gray horizon.
Sadly a light sprinkles
as the Heavens are abruptly obscured:
The black birds, with their loud cries,
plug the nozzle and the night closes
the sun, like a large pink egg.
THE MIRROR
XLVII.
From a growing crescent of the moon
imagine the blue sky of the evening,
and by the balcony of the boudoir
it enters with its wandering light.
Opposite, in vibrant peace
the limpid and deep mirror,
from a growing crescent of the moon
unties the blue sky of the evening.
Pierrot, in a conquering way
reflects and unanticipatedly appears in the dark
laughing in smugness in silence to see,
separated by his white relationship,
a growing crescent of the moon!
SUPPER ON WATER
XLVIII.
Along with skiffs
from the house of Prussian blue
Pierrot, Columbine, and the Harlequin
clean up red bottles.
The women have fireflies
set with diamonds, they wear a casaquin.
Along with skiffs
from the house of Prussian blue.
The ladies enrich their toiletry with small ornaments
The Moon shines like an embellishing sequin
and under a secretive pink canopy
madrigal singers are being disobedient.
Along with skiffs
from the house of Prussian blue.
THE STAIRCASE
XLIX.
On the marble of the staircase,
Light a rustle of light
Turbulence in bluish dust,
with a turn of each stage.
The Moon, from a familiar stage,
is the fact in its usual cycle
on the marble of the staircase,
Light a rustle of light.
And Pierrot, to humble himself
before his pale Empress,
kneels to recite a White Prayer
about his grand body from a coastal pit
on the marble of the staircase.
BOHEMIAN CRYSTAL
L.
A moon beam enclosed
in a beautiful bottle from Bohemia.
Such is the fairylike poem
that, in these rounds, I answered.
I’m dressed like Pierrot,
to offer what I like.
A moon beam enclosed
in a beautiful bottle from Bohemia.
By this symbol all is expressed.
O my very dear, all of myself
like Pierrot, in his pale head,
senses that under my thin mask
a beam of the moon is enclosed.
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