"Swan" was a recent, if rather vague, "Tweet of the Day" That was a trifle vague, I thought. Swan, he said .... but,hey? what sort ? There's Black, and Mute and also Whooper Any of which would be super-dooper. [Bewick's is another But I'll go no futher.] His main theme was some verse so I quickly wrote this drivel : at least, I've made it terse not just a load of scribble.... As for poems, well, I found some ... and chose this remarkable one it's a bit full-on it's by Andre Breton (his portrait of his wife is quite fun !). It wanders about like a dr ke u n lo un t in the heat of the midday sun. But you'll have to wait for the swan it's quite a long way on its back is all it mentions (detail, it seems, he shuns). After all that nonsense, here's the actual poem .... you might care to tot up all the various mammals, birds, substances and body parts in it. Written by Andre Breton Freedom of Love (Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti) My wife with the hair of a wood fire With the thoughts of heat lightning With the waist of an hourglass With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger My wife with the lips of a cockade and of a bunch of stars of the last magnitude With the teeth of tracks of white mice on the white earth With the tongue of rubbed amber and glass My wife with the tongue of a stabbed host With the tongue of a doll that opens and closes its eyes With the tongue of an unbelievable stone My wife with the eyelashes of strokes of a child's writing With brows of the edge of a swallow's nest My wife with the brow of slates of a hothouse roof And of steam on the panes My wife with shoulders of champagne And of a fountain with dolphin-heads beneath the ice My wife with wrists of matches My wife with fingers of luck and ace of hearts With fingers of mown hay My wife with armpits of marten and of beechnut And of Midsummer Night Of privet and of an angelfish nest With arms of seafoam and of riverlocks And of a mingling of the wheat and the mill My wife with legs of flares With the movements of clockwork and despair My wife with calves of eldertree pith My wife with feet of initials With feet of rings of keys and Java sparrows drinking My wife with a neck of unpearled barley My wife with a throat of the valley of gold Of a tryst in the very bed of the torrent With breasts of night My wife with breasts of a marine molehill My wife with breasts of the ruby's crucible With breasts of the rose's spectre beneath the dew My wife with the belly of an unfolding of the fan of days With the belly of a gigantic claw My wife with the back of a bird fleeing vertically With a back of quicksilver With a back of light With a nape of rolled stone and wet chalk And of the drop of a glass where one has just been drinking My wife with hips of a skiff With hips of a chandelier and of arrow-feathers And of shafts of white peacock plumes Of an insensible pendulum My wife with buttocks of sandstone and asbestos My wife with buttocks of swans' backs My wife with buttocks of spring With the sex of an iris My wife with the sex of a mining-placer and of a platypus My wife with a sex of seaweed and ancient sweetmeat My wife with a sex of mirror My wife with eyes full of tears With eyes of purple panoply and of a magnetic needle My wife with savanna eyes My wife with eyes of water to he drunk in prison My wife with eyes of wood always under the axe My wife with eyes of water-level of level of air earth and fire. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well ! That was, er, a bit odd. It isn't very flattering for Ms. Breton. But now .... the all-important Music Spot ... Swans are big ...so I chose this ........
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AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
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