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The Human Face

I.

Soon Of all the springtimes of the world This one is the ugliest Of all of my ways of being To be trusting is the best  Grass pushes up snow Like the stone of a tomb But I sleep within the storm And awaken eyes bright Slowness, brief time ends Where all streets must pass Through my innermost recesses So that I would meet someone  I don’t listen to monsters I know them and all that they say I see only beautiful faces Good faces, sure of themselves  Certain soon to ruin their masters  II.

The women’s role As they sing, the maids dash forward To tidy up the killing fields Well-powdered girls, quickly to their knees  Their hands — reaching for the fresh air — Are blue like never before What a glorious day!  Look at their hands, the dead Look at their liquid eyes  This is the toilet of transience The final toilet of life Stones sink and disappear In the vast, primal waters The final toilet of time  Hardly a memory remains the dried-up well of virtue In the long, oppressive absences One surrenders to tender flesh Under the spell of weakness

II.

As deep as the silence As deep as the silence Of a corpse under ground With nothing but darkness in mind  As dull and deaf As autumn by the pond Covered with stale shame  Poison, deprived of its flower And of its golden beasts out its night onto man  IV.

Patience You, my patient one My patience My parent Head held high and proudly Organ of the sluggish night Bow down Concealing all of heaven And its favor Prepare for vengeance A bed where I'll be born V.

First march, the voice of another Laughing at sky and planets Drunk with their confidence The wise men wish for sons And for sons from their sons  Until they all perish in vain Time burdens only fools While Hell alone prospers And the wise men are absurd  VI.

A wolf Day surprises me and night scares me haunts me and winter follows me An animal walking on the snow has placed Its paws in the sand or in the mud  Its paws have traveled From further afar than my own steps On a path where death Has the imprints of life

II.

A flawless fire The threat under the red sky Came from below — jaws And scales and links Of a slippery, heavy chain  Life was spread about generously So that death took seriously The debt it was paid without a thought  Death was the God of love And the conquerors in a kiss Swooned upon their victims Corruption gained courage  And yet, beneath the red sky Under the appetites for blood Under the dismal starvation The cavern closed  The kind earth filled  The graves dug in advance Children were no longer afraid Of maternal depths  And madness and stupidity And vulgarity make way For humankind and brotherhood No longer fighting against life — For an everlasting humankind

II.

Liberty On my school notebooks On my desk, on the trees On the sand, on the snow I write your name On all the read pages On all the empty pages Stone, blood, paper or ash I write your name  On the golden images On the weapons of warriors On the crown of kings I write your name  On the jungle and the desert On the nests, on the broom On the echo of my childhood I write your name  On the wonders of nights On the white bread of days On the seasons betrothed  I write your name  d'azur On all my blue rags On the sun-molded pond On the moon-enlivened lake I write your name  On the fields, on the horizon On the wings of birds And on the mill of shadows I write your name  On every burst of dawn On the sea, on the boats On the insane mountain I write your name  On the foam of clouds On the sweat of the storm On the rain, thick and insipid I write your name  On the shimmering shapes On the colorful bells On the physical truth I write your

On the alert pathways On the wide-spread roads On the overflowing places I write your name  On the lamp that is ignited On the lamp that is dimmed On my reunited houses I write your name  On the fruit cut in two Of the mirror and of my room On my bed, an empty shell I write your name  On my dog, young and greedy On his pricked-up ears On his clumsy paw I write your name  On the springboard of my door On the familiar objects On the wave of blessed fire I write your name  On all harmonious flesh On the face of my friends On every out-stretched hand I write your name  On the window-pane of surprises On the careful lips Well-above silence I write your name  On my destroyed shelter On my collapsed beacon On the walls of my weariness I write your name  On absence without want On naked solitude On the steps of death I write your name  On regained health On vanished risk On hope free from memory I write your name  And by the power of one word I begin my life again I am born to know you To call you by name:

Liberty!

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Paul Eluard

Paul Éluard, born Eugène Émile Paul Grindel; 14 December 1895 – 18 November 1952), was a French poet and one of the founders of the Surrealist m…

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