YVES BONNEFOYAs if beyond all pure form
There were to tremble another song, the absolute.
Oh light and nothing of light, oh tears
Smiling above all anguish or hope,
Oh swan, real place in the unreal somber water,
Oh spring, when it was profoundest dusk!
You seem to know both shores,
Utter joy and utter grief.
Over there, among those grey reeds in the light,
You seem to drink deeply from what never ends.
—mary ann caws
The Snow
It has come from further than the roads,
It has touched the meadow, the ochre of the flowers,
With that hand that writes in smoke,
It has vanquished time through silence.
More light this evening
Because of the snow.
You would think the leaves in front of the door were burning,
And there is water in the wood we bring in.
—john naughton
The Task of Hope
It is dawn. Has this lamp, then, finished
Its task of hope, hand placed
In the clouded mirror, on the fever
Of the one who kept watch, not knowing how to die?
But it is true that he has not put it out,
It still burns for him, in spite of the sky.
The seagulls screech their soul at your frost-covered
Window, morning sleeper, boat from another river.
—john naughton