From the marble rose to the iron rose & The Voice
I. "From the marble rose to the iron rose" (1919-1930)
The huge white marble rose was alone on the empty square
where shadows extended to infinity. And the marble rose,
alone under the sun and the stars, was queen of solitude.
And the odorless marble rose on her rigid stem at the top
of a granite pedestal streamed with all the floods from
the sky. The moon lingered pensive in her glacial heart
and the goddesses of gardens the marble goddesses came
to try their cold breasts on her petals.
The glass rose rang with all the sounds of the seacoast.
No sob from a broken wave failed to make her tremble.
Around her fragile stem and transparent heart rainbows
revolved with the stars. The rain glided in delicate circles
down her leaves the wind sometimes set moaning in fear
of streams and glowworms.
The coal rose was a black phoenix changed by face powder
into a fiery one. But flowing endlessly from dark corridors
where miners picked her respectfully to carry her to
daylight in her anthracite vein the coal rose kept watch
at the doors to the desert.
The blotting-paper rose sometimes bled in the twilight when
evening came to kneel at her feet. The blotting-paper rose
guardian of all secrets and a bad counselor bled blood thicker
than sea foam and which was not her own.
The cloud rose appeared over doomed cities at the time of volcanic
eruptions at the time of fires at the time of riots over Paris
when the Commune mixed iridescent veins of gas and the smell
of powder she was beautiful on the 21st of January beautiful
in the month of October in the cold wind of the steppes beautiful
in 1905 at the time of miracles at the time of love.
The wooden rose presided at the gallows. It blossomed at the top
of the guillotine then slept in the moss in the giant shadow
of mushrooms.
The iron rose had been hammered for centuries by blacksmiths
of lightning.
Each of her leaves was large as an unknown sky. At the slightest
shock she gave off a sound of thunder. But how kind she was
the iron rose
to despairing women in love.
The marble rose the glass rose the coal rose the blotting-paper rose
the cloud rose the wooden rose the iron rose will go on flowering
forever though today they lie on your rug leafless
And who are you? you who crush beneath your bare feet the scattered
remains of the marble rose the glass rose the coal rose the blotting-
paper rose the cloud rose the wooden rose the iron rose.
Les ténèbres*
II. "The Voice" (1942-1944)
A voice, a voice from so far away
It no longer makes the ears tingle.
A voice like a muffled drum
Still reaches us clearly.
Though it seems to come from the grave
It speaks only of summer and spring.
It floods the body with joy.
It lights the lips with a smile.
I listen. It is simply a human voice
Which passes over the noise of life and its battles
The crash of thunder and the murmur of gossip.
And you? Don't you hear it?
It says "The pain will soon be over"
It says "The happy season is near."
Don't you hear it?
~ Robert Desnos
Translated by William Kulik
* sorry for any spelling mistakes made in typing this one out ;_;
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