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Max Jacob

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Lofty Dwelling

     I am here as in a burrow: a burrow this winter bed, a burrow brightened, not by the linen and the pillow on which no dead man’s face has ever rested, but by the bright images. This winter bed is my mountain between the holly and the rock. I am here as in a burrow, exiled, brightened by the images.

     We are being held hostage by three groups of three workmen, three virgin women, three whose headbands are yours, housemaid of the Bollores. All of us, hostages and workmen, are blind people with seeking hands: they see more clearly inside. We are being held on the mossy grass, three virgin women including this housemaid, by three times three workmen.

     This couldn’t go on: we had to go down into the town. It seems everything has changed: no more shops or cars: the crowd has gone to the flea market. Everywhere the poverty-stricken crowd and the shanties: damaged meat, half fruits and over-ripe fruit are on sale.

     Oh, let me stay on the mountain between the holly and the rock! Blinder in the blind town, here I see from within: higher up, with her hair in distress on her white stockings, I see the naked woman who tenderly squeezes and squeezes a struggling swan.

 

Translated by Michael Bullock

Page(s) 13

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