...MAIS L'HOMME N'ABDIQUE PAS
The power of man's imagination is greater than all the poisons –
No need for cocaine. Everything is a drug for the man
Who chooses to live on the other side.
A poetic force leads the phantoms of reverie
My poetic force animates all my senses;
Reverie becomes for me polysensorial.
From the poetic passage,
I receive a renewal of the joy of perceiving,
A subtlety of all senses -
A subtlety which bears the privilege
Of a perception from one sense to another,
In a sort of aroused Baudelarian correspondence.
Awakening, my heart beats
Ah! How a passage which pleases me can make me live!
I learn that the poorest objects are sachets of perfume,
That, at certain times,
Internal lights render opaque bodies translucent,
That every sonority is a voice.
How the cup from which I drank as a child rings!
From all over, coming from all objects,
An intimacy lays siege to me.
Yes, truly I dream while composing,
I soar highest, no one can reach me!
The reverie which works poetically
Maintains me in an intimate space
Which does not stop at any frontier
– a space uniting the intimacy
Of my being which dreams with the intimacy
Of the beings which I dream.
It is within these composite intimacies
That a poetics of reverie is coordinate.
The whole being of the world
Is amassed poetically around the
Mind of the dreamer: my mind,
A beautiful mind.
I am a dreamer, and through my fantastic dream
I reach my creative ecstasy.
With or without you. With you, if you so wish…
See me flying among clouds of heaven? See me?
I’m gone.
Like a painter who likes to live
The object in its ever particular appearances,
I will be able to return the dream
To the picturesque life of my mind,
A manifest psychic activity
In a world homogenous with my being,
Where everything is welcome
And my imagination travels the universe.
je te prie de m'écouter
The power of man's imagination is greater than all the poisons –
No need for cocaine. Everything is a drug for the man
Who chooses to live on the other side.
My poetic force animates all my senses;
Reverie becomes for me polysensorial.
From the poetic passage,
I receive a renewal of the joy of perceiving,
A subtlety of all senses -
A subtlety which bears the privilege
Of a perception from one sense to another,
In a sort of aroused Baudelarian correspondence.
Awakening, my heart beats
Ah! How a passage which pleases me can make me live!
I learn that the poorest objects are sachets of perfume,
That, at certain times,
Internal lights render opaque bodies translucent,
That every sonority is a voice.
How the cup from which I drank as a child rings!
From all over, coming from all objects,
An intimacy lays siege to me.
Yes, truly I dream while composing,
I soar highest, no one can reach me!
The reverie which works poetically
Maintains me in an intimate space
Which does not stop at any frontier
– a space uniting the intimacy
Of my being which dreams with the intimacy
Of the beings which I dream.
It is within these composite intimacies
That a poetics of reverie is coordinate.
The whole being of the world
Is amassed poetically around the
Mind of the dreamer: my mind,
A beautiful mind.
I am a dreamer, and through my fantastic dream
I reach my creative ecstasy.
With or without you. With you, if you so wish…
See me flying among clouds of heaven? See me?
I’m gone.
Like a painter who likes to live
The object in its ever particular appearances,
I will be able to return the dream
To the picturesque life of my mind,
A manifest psychic activity
In a world homogenous with my being,
Where everything is welcome
And my imagination travels the universe.
