The Ten Poems Of Solitude V

Poem By Hugues C. Pernath

I abhor the shame, the shudder of the past
When everything was more than being and nothing else.
When each moment unmoved, became the movement
That must repeat what once was hushed up
And which was offended against. Inhuman as man
Far from the many tracks, I quit madness
And abhor the truth that is twisted
The booty that's divided. I escape my efforts
And together with soliloquy, the one I am.

I have covered my distances, left my prints
And mortified, washed up, I was hoist out of time
Alone and divorced from solitudes and loyalty.
Ghosts were left, swelling over the thresholds
Of my suspicion, of my fear that fails
That recoils and hankers, consumed by sterility
After the domination of the new futility.

As wretched as the wretchedness I confuse the days
The wilfulness and the pity that calms memory.
Estranged from everything, wounded and lost
I forget the riddles, the plaintive names I gave her.
In the tedium of wounds, in mist after dew
I'm perhaps left with staring, the same face
As if no one has ever existed anywhere, no voice
Rejoiced or wailed. The ills brought no knowledge
And greyer and further, her smells no happiness.

Translation Paul Vincent

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Other poems of PERNATH

I am not sad, no tenderness attracts me

I am not sad, no tenderness attracts me,
No body will ever be able to feel mine
No other ear my confusion, my unease
In the speechless torment of language.

I no longer belong but control the trembling

I no longer belong but control the trembling
Ablaze and senile, sleepless in the past
In the things that have happened, the things
Of the days, I conjugate the pledges of pain

I dwelt in the corridors of come and go

I dwelt in the corridors of come and go
In the boundless dismay of tacky colours
Nothing's still true, no sun splits open.
No son will ever speak in this handful of life

In the loveless landscape of my solitude

In the loveless landscape of my solitude
No movement prevails that calms me, no rest
That consoles or dispatches me like a firstborn.
Proudly my blood translates the signs,

As a relative, I have hope in common with no one

As a relative, I have hope in common with no one
With no one the choice of love
With which I live alone, with which I stagger
Moving but subdued by the boundless landscape

In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifaction

In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifaction
Of many lives, sometimes the foulness of the source
The lily or the shady foliage.
Sometimes I suspect the trembling of your hands