Alain Bosquet

(1919-1998 / Odessa)

What Forgotten Realm? - Poem by Alain Bosquet

Let me introduce to you
my poetry: it's an island flying
from book to book
searching for
the page where it was born,
then stops at my house, both wings wounded,
for its meals of flesh and cold phrases.

I paid dearly for the poem's visit!
My best words lie down to sleep in the nettles,
my greenest syllables dream
of a silence as young as themselves.

Offer me the horizon which no longer dares
to swim across even one book.
I will give you this sonnet in return:
in that place live the birds
signed by the ocean;
and also these exalted consonants
from which can be seen
the brain tumors of stars.

Manufacturers of equators,
to what client, to what wanderer
who knows neither how to read nor love,
have you resold my poem,
that smiling predator who at each syllable
leapt for my throat?

My language is at half-mast
since my syllables
fled for safety, carrying with them,
as one carries wedding gifts,
all my spare sunrises.

My poem, as much as I dismiss you
like a valet who for twenty-five years
has been stealing my manuscript snows;
as much as I walk you on a leash
like a poodle
that fears to tread the dawn;
as much as I caress you,
with an equator around your neck
which devours my other images one by one,
at each breath I begin you again,
at each breath you become my epitaph.

A duel took place
between the words and their syllables.
followed by the execution of overly rich poems.
The language bled,
the last vowel surrendered.
Already the great reptiles were being conjugated.
Here is my last will and testament:
the panther which follows my alphabet
must devour it, if it turns back.


Comments about What Forgotten Realm? by Alain Bosquet

  • John Richter (10/5/2015 7:05:00 AM)

    I love this poem. And frankly that is a heralding compliment from me because as a general rule certain aspects of modern poetry fall completely short of my understanding. But this poem - miraculously - is very concise - formed in such a way that the reader can follow every word in patterns - to understand the emotion of the poet himself and the value of his poetry to himself..... Yet still the ugly head of modernism pokes it's shadow here with the phrase 'brain tumors of stars'.... which has no bearing, no meaning, and no reason to be marring this wonderful poem. Any lesser poem would be destroyed by it in my opinion. But this is simply the most divine poem on the topic of poetry that I have ever seen.... #newbosquetfan (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • .., Rahman .., Henry .., Rahman .., Henry (10/5/2015 4:45:00 AM)

    Wonderful, awesome poem. It's charm, a marvel. really I'm spellbound. Thanks a lot, dear poet. (Report) Reply

  • Seema Jayaraman Seema Jayaraman (10/5/2015 3:56:00 AM)

    An incredibly awesome poem.. I am totally bowled over.. such strong hitting words what flight of imagination.. thouroughly humbled and deeply inspired.. my poetry: it's an island flying
    from book to book
    searching for
    the page where it was born,
    then stops at my house, both wings wounded,
    for its meals of flesh and cold phrases.
    thank you for sharing (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 28, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, October 28, 2013


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