dead shakespeare

BOOK 1
BEYOND THE DARKNESS

dead shakespeare


9

how much respect does an ant's corpse need?
how many burials will he ask for?
when the anthill is lit...
where will the happy corpse run to?
to which crypt?
to which god?
all these things crossed my mind
as I looked to the North
hoping for a miracle, my interlocutor, monsieur Detouche
spoke profligately, as if he were a bohemian or a party
"there's nothing there, my little animal
North is just a North
it's when you're up against a wall –
that's what the North is, my friend..."

I agreed, for on the horizon
ants were indeed returning to their volcano


10

where to retreat to when Leclerc is everywhere?
I taste salt from the sea and become a paving stone
I'll be the footprints of great men
I'll be an abandoned building, a shoe temple
throw Pepsi caps at me, put out cigarette butts on me
I ain't hurt I ain't scared I'm just screaming with happiness
I see Solitude and the Sea
I see the castle, my Siegmaringen

a spear has been plucked from my heart, my Horace
I am better now, my friend, rest rest rest, rest…


11

have not the tears brought the fire
a great fire, a full bonfire?
I lay on the track, as if I were king
of all the city's madness, obeying
one tear, I pierce with an awl
my wander-weary throat
now I too am a member of the guignol’s band
now I too am but a ghost, a curtain
on the windows of Hindsight and Action

I am what exists like a flame in a tear
I am what protects the world from Darkness


12

the lights are so classically off
"captain, you can't see shit!"
the sub goes down to the bottom, to the bombs
I'm afraid this is the birth of the New World...
oh, only dark has the right to speak
for all - silence, not a point to you, not a word
and that very meaning you've been searching for
becomes the last in the race of the First
the universe! the universe! I am blind
and only blindness is my poetry
will guide me headlong into the abyss
and the light from the lamp will illuminate my death with diamonds
reflections are classic literature
and I'm – a son of a bitch in it – a super figure

Andr; Breton, you, with your fish head
much more described than I did in all my pathetic books