Pierre Reverdy, the sublime simplicity of reality

Pierre Reverdy (1889-1960)

Le monde plate-forme

La moitié de tout ce qu’on pouvait voir glissait. Il y avait des danseurs près des phares et des pas de lumière. Tout le monde dormait. D’une masse d’arbres dont on ne distinguait que l’ombre — l’ombre qui marchait en se séparant des feuilles, une aile se dégagea, peu à peu, secouant la lune dans un battement rapide et mou. L’air se tenait tout entier. Le pavé glissant ne supportait plus aucune audace et pourtant c’était en pleine ville, en plein nuit — le ciel se rattachant à la terre aux maisons du faubourg. Les passants avaient escaladé un autre monde qu’ils regardaient en souriant.  Mais on ne savait pas s’ils resteraient plus longtemps là ou s’ils iraient tomber enfin dans l’autre sens de la ruelle.

Half of what was visible was sliding. There were dancers near the beacons and footsteps of light. Everyone was asleep. Out from a mass of trees where nothing could be seen but shadow—the shadow that was walking, detaching itself from the leaves—little by little a wing flew free, shaking off the moon with a quick and muffled beat. The air kept completely still. The slippery pavement would bear no more audacity, but it was right in the middle of town, in the dead of night, the sky fastening itself to the earth with its rows of houses. Passersby had scaled another world that they gazed at with a smile. But there was no way of knowing whether they would stay there any longer or go fall at last into the other direction of the little street.

translated from French by Dan Bellm

Poetry such as this attempts not just a new syntax of the word. Its revolution is aimed at the syntax of the mind itself.