The way things slip down
The gaping hole that spells
Flee like hell
When you see flames
Going after your soul
While you still can
In the exaggerated softness
Of this emerging meantime
Things tell me to hush
While I still can
As to curtail lost innocence
Still standing after fate’s
Fatal blow to the ego
And other intertwined
Mysteries for the eyes
To land on.
Now that I’m all alone now
Now that my heart is dry
I’m reaching for the stars
To meet my maker
And fly into the sun
I’m poking around corners
Left open to conclusions
Now that my heart is dry
Now that my skin is wrinkled
I start reaching for forever
Into the backwards drawings
Of the universe’s pull
I look back to who
It was that did
Those things I did
Now that my heart is dry
Now that I’m alone now.
Standing at a crossroads
Waiting for something to happen
As summer sets
It’s teeth in my loneliness
Between now
And the tenth anniversary
Of my abstinence in love.
Originally AUJOURD’HUI by guimond
Translation: author.
Bursting out to sublimate matter
I am the atom seperated from inertia
Lingering only where I am most welcome
Your own inertial devolution soon
Will turn into an infinite figure of 8
Eating it’s own tail
So soon that you will bite yourself
Before I have reached the bottom
Of the universal staircase
Just to make sure all of this
Is really happening
And as to make matters worst
All your schemes of consolidation
Will fragment in subsequent gatherings
In other words fuck off
I’ve had more than enough
Don’t bother calling me anymore
I’m outta here sugar….
THE USEFULNESS OF HATE
I am humiliated
She flowers on the floor
Playing hot belly
Under fall willows,
With the chemotherapy of the a sea horse,
I’ll die strangled
In the skater’s cement,
When all men suffer from the virgin
And that the hospital visits are over
In the seizure of fractions. T
THE TORTURE OF SILENCE
I am a murder,
The gun’s bitch
Fragile as a lip
In the colors of a kiss
I didn’t know
That life’s torture was grace
Now autumn tones its mist
Meanwhile we burn
Under the ceiling’s rays,
Pretending not to swallow
Not breathing.
poems by Denis Vanier
from PORTER PLAINTE… Éditions Les Herbes-Rouges, Montréal, 2001
Translation daniel guimond
If this text works
Then the Gods must be crazy
Or the Coca-Cola bottle hit’em in the head
For I am still here
Knee deep in this sh…
Fighting for the right
To ask for a permission
To try and do
What’s right
Or wrong for that matter
For since that which goes up
Does what it does on it’s way down
Whatever seems right
Has got to represent all the wrong
All the evil
Twisted sh… buried under the carpets
When the doorbell rang…
We are the spin doctors
Of our own demise
We are but a singularity
A black rip
In the tissue of culture
We are the problem
Of our lack of solutions
And the world turns
The globe spins
The days drift
How many more hours
Does that exactly make?
Will there be enough time
For these slits
To depart my throat
In the aggressive silence
Where my blood sits
Though minds change
Species evolve
Others disappear
One singular consistency
Is the missing link
That is used
To keep me away
From getting to know you
Away from your eyes
Away from your mind
Away from your being
The blood from my vein
Away from feeling
A connection with the sane
Since the fault
Requires measures
I pray to my guilt
That it surrenders
And that one morning soon
My telephones will screech
With the sound of your voice
Telling me to go
Go to hell
If you want to
And join me here
In the burning comfort
Of regretful abundance
In the story of my love
So many odd years
Too late
This is but a key to the door
Of your dreams
Like a weathering Jesus
Stuck to the dashboard
With a cello between her knees
Her soul kneels to the occasion
I spit in the rearview mirror
As if I could make it think
While the tired Ford tears
Down the dirt road
To another colour hell
It used to be another story
Mostly in another town
Now it’s mostly waiting
For the man to show
For all intents and purposes
Are going to be straight up
Some are going to be black
Some are going to be blue
Faced with the utter lack of purpose
She bitches about levitation
Pretending not to see me
Hovering around the clouds
Suspended on the brink
Of her lament in C minor
Now that I have surmised her secret
She bitches on a speeding mission
Where for better or for worse
She smiles like pending doom
As to throw me the curve
In the final stretch I deserve
While the pole position swallows
Hurdling unfinished obstacles
To the finish I grasp
For a cubic foot of a worldmap
So there’s nothing for me to add
Alas she is bitching to the beat.
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