Without Lifting A Finger

In the monumental four-volume anthology of French poetry edited by Jerzy Lisowski and completed after his death, I find a poem whose history is somehow near to me; its author is Gilbert Lely, and the title is “Word and Cold.” Gilbert Lely. Gilbert Lely was a writer linked to surrealism, known—as I read in the encyclopedia—for his erotic poems as well as for a highly regarded biography of Sade. But I know just the one poem, and that’s all I’ll mention here. A Polish version of this poem turned up in the anthology of French poetry, as translated by Konstanty Jelenski. I remember that Jelenski found this poem in yet another anthology, Une anthologie de la poésie française, published by Jean-François Revel in December 1985. The poem struck him, and he gave his translation to the Polish journal Literary Notebooks. I’ll give an excerpt from this—truly beautiful—poem, in which the author (speaker) visits his own grave as he strolls through autumnal Paris.  It’s still empty, waiting ...

Might try putting another book together this summer. Old and New Poems. Working title: Woodhenge. I'm thinking about cover art: I'm leaning toward some version of this. We'll see. And, of course, I'll have to get the artist's permission.:)

At length a pause ensues in my sufferings. For hours at a time I sit in the open space before the summer-house, watch the flowers, and think over the recent events. The peace of mind, which I find after my flight, convinces me that I have not been suffering from the delusions of disease, but have been persecuted by real enemies. I work during the day and sleep quietly at night. Delivered from the squalor of my former residence, I feel myself rejuvenated among the roses of this garden—the favourite flower of my youth. The Jardin des Plantes, this wonder of Paris unknown to the Parisians themselves, has become my park. This epitome of creation confined within a narrow circuit, this Noah's Ark, this Paradise Regained in which I wander without danger among wild beasts—it is too much happiness. Beginning with stones, I proceed to the vegetable and animal kingdoms, till I come to man, and behind man I discover the Creator—the great Artist who develops as he creates, sets on fool design...