The Yale Anthology of Twentieth-Century French Poetry

PHILIPPE SOUPAULT

The fire is like the snow Georgia
The night is my neighbour Georgia
I’m listening to every single sound Georgia
I see the smoke rising and flying o√ Georgia
I’m walking like a wolf in the shadow Georgia
I’m running here are the streets the suburbs Georgia
Here’s a town which is the same
and that I don’t know Georgia
I’m rushing here’s the wind Georgia
and the cold and the silence and the fear Georgia
I’m fleeing Georgia
I’m running Georgia
the clouds are low they’re about to fall Georgia
I stretch out my arms Georgia
I don’t close my eyes Georgia
I call Georgia
I cry Georgia
I call Georgia
I call you Georgia
Will you come Georgia
soon Georgia
Georgia Georgia Georgia
Georgia
I’m not sleeping Georgia
I’m waiting for you
Georgia
—mary ann caws and patricia terry

Horizon

for Tristan Tzara

The whole town came into my room
the trees were disappearing
and the evening sticks to my fingers
The houses are becoming steamships
the sound of the sea has reached me
In two days we’ll be in the Congo
I have crossed the Equator and the Tropic of Capricorn
I know there are innumerable hills
Notre Dame is hiding Gaurisankar and the Aurora Borealis