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It all began one wild dawn
The barges slid by under torrents of rain
The clouds raced past shredded and torn
above charcoal-glinting roofs
Two bourgeois dogs passed by with a sideways gait
The…
Monelle grew quiet and looked at me:
I came from the night, she said, and I shall return to the night. For I too am a young prostitute.
And Monelle said again:
I pity you, I pity you, my love.
Even…
The fire of joy in solitude. . . And since in vain I have made this journey,The ground giving way to my burning steps,Let me embrace this ardorIn abstract revelry* * *
This is a story that begins with J. It was the fifteenth of July 1930.
It’s about J; it’s about a consonant still a little vowelish, a little i-ish in the aftermath of a magic philology.
Were I not…