foresee so suddenly leaning toward a face and wanting to lick the soul’s whole body till the gaze sparks with furies and yieldings. You cannot foresee the body’s being swept into the infinity of curves, of pulsings, every time the body surges you cannot see the image, the hand touching the nape of the neck, the tongue parting the hairs, the knees trembling, the arms from such desire encircling the body like a universe. Desire is all you see. You cannot foresee the image, the bursts of laughter, the screams and the tears. The image is trembling, mute, polyphonic. Does she frictional she fluvial she essential does she all along her body love the bite, the sound waves, does she love the state of the world in the blaze of flesh to flesh as seconds flow by silken salty cyprin.1
On ne peut pas prévoir si les mots qui l’excitent sont vulgaires, anciens, étrangers ou si c’est toute la phrase qui l’attire et qui avive en elle le désir comme un flair de l’étreinte, une manière de sentir son corps prêt à tout, sans limite. Rien n’est prévu pourtant la bouche du corps à corps excitée par les mots trouve d’instinct l’image qui excite.
You cannot foresee if the words arousing her are vulgar, ancient, or foreign or if it is the whole sentence that attracts her and quickens in her a desire like a scent of the embrace, a way of feeling her body as truly ready for everything. Nothing is foreseen yet the mouth of bodies commoving aroused by the words by instinct finds the image that arouses.
On ne peut pas prévoir si l’état du monde basculera avec nous dans la saveur et le déferlement des langues. Rien n’est prévu pourtant la blouse est entrouverte, la petite culotte à peine décalée de la fente et pourtant les paupières closes et pourtant les yeux de l’intérieur sont tout agités par la sensation de la douceur des doigts. On ne peut pas prévoir si les doigts resteront là, immobiles, parfaits, longtemps encore, si le majeur bougera ô à peine sur la petite perle, si la main s’ouvrira en forme d’étoile au moment même où la douceur de sa joue, où son souffle au moment où tout le corps de l’autre femme appuiera si fort que le livre qui servait d’appui glissera sous la main, la main, au moment où l’équilibre sera précaire et que les cuisses se multiplieront comme des orchidées, on ne peut pas prévoir si les doigts pénètreront, s’ils s’imbiberont à tout jamais de notre odeur dans le mouvement continu de l’image.
You cannot foresee if the state of the world will topple over with you in the flavour and surging motion of tongues. Nothing is foreseen yet the shirt is half-open, the panties barely away from the cleft and yet the closed lids and yet the inner eyes are all astir from feeling the tender in the fingers. You cannot foresee if the fingers there will stay, motionless, perfect, for a long while yet, if the middle finger will move o ever so slightly on the little pearl, if the hand will open into a star shape at the very moment when the softness of her cheek, when her breath at the very moment when the other woman’s whole body will weigh so heavily that the book where it rests gives way under the hand, the hand, at the very moment when balance will become precarious and thighs will multiply like orchids, you cannot foresee if the fingers will penetrate, if they’ll forever absorb our fragrance in the image’s continuous movement.
Rien n’est prévu car nous ne savons pas ce qui arrive à l’image de l’état du monde lorsque la patience des bouches dénude l’être. On ne peut pas prévoir parmi les vagues, la déferlante, la fraction de seconde qui fera image dans la narration des corps tournoyants à la vitesse de l’image.
On ne peut pas prévoir comment la langue s’enroule autour du clitoris pour soulever le corps et le déplacer cellule par cellule dans l’irréel.
Nothing is foreseen for we do not know what becomes of the image of the state of the world when the patience of mouths lays being bare. You cannot foresee from among the waves the one the unfurling one the split second that will image in the narrative of bodies whirling at the speed of the image.
You cannot foresee how the tongue wraps round the clitoris to lift the body and move it cell by cell into a realm unreal.
Sous la langue / Under Tongue
1987
ULTRASOUND
from White Piano
tr. Robert Majzels and Erín Moure
stubborn backbone
that chafes the depth of thoughts
in the plupresent of fear and ecstasy
in the simple present of our intelligent tissues
anon a landscape that rises like an ancient beast
flexible from throat to sex capable of flight and sudden
plunges of inebriate blue
the present wants the present up to the ears
then pain marks who is present; in the distance, cicadas
phrases unfurled 2ice without infinitive
at the time of the best sketches of solitude
versatile migrant pauses
to talk no more of coffins and repetition
laments language or quick the eyes above all
to displace the wind, the chic distresses. No one dares
laugh at themselves now because of fragile pronouns
with all our being we head toward elsewhere
to dip the alphabet in new mysteries
simple certainty of shadow
forever in the breast we carry a species overwhelmed
the pain of sincere wishes exchanged in chaos
so we clean the keyboard with our fingers
we disperse slowly solo
each crevice each key certain evenings
to speak in prose to speak dissipates the drownings of origin,
you’ve seen there are rhinestones
breezes too I was saying who
camouflages what
everyone wanted to enter consciousness
to meddle in the tiniest atoms of frenzy
on the brink of death everyone rolled their anguish
auto marble dice voice the same voice in a loop
to the end of love
here I started to think again of Venice,
of ordinary scenes from Tiepolo, life of clay
piano and wise songs of water
amid touch screens where
question
