The Yale Anthology of Twentieth-Century French Poetry

DORA MAAR

bouquet of stars of the sea shrieking its distress in the cup the verbal blast of its
gaze awakens the tragic ratatouille of the ballet of flies in the curtain of flames
boiling on the window ledge
—mary ann caws

These Tall Constructions

These tall constructions facing the sun in the cloudless sky are visible from the
room at the top of the landscape.
I do not move.
That is what I used to do, weighing everything down.
Pressed by solitude it was a matter of imagining love

time passes
Today a Sunday at the month’s end
March 1942 in Paris the songs of the tame birds
are like little flames burning calmly you can see
in the silence. I am desperate
But it isn’t a question of me

These tall constructions facing the sun in the cloudless sky,
I see them from my room at the top of the landscape
I do not move.
This is what I have always done. I weighed down everything

Today it’s another landscape in this Sunday at the end
of the month of March 1942 in Paris the silence is so great
that the songs of the tame birds are like little flames you can see.
I am desperate

But forget it
—mary ann caws