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Poem

Boujema El Aoufi

Eulogies for Sylvia Plath

My love
Do you hear me reciting
Songs about the green country and the ultimate journey?
And like the star of March I come bearing
The Zodiac pain, the witches’ moon, their passion . . .
I come dressed in the whiteness of the moment that precedes
Crossing,
When the time – spans stuck on the dragon’s blood
Hang from the top of the throat . . .
And the Grey color edified all colors,
There shall we meet:
Between the line and its echo !

My love !
O thread of the fascinating twilight
Woven by desire in my limbs,
The red tiles
Over the roof of the ancient house
Will illuminate the forest in all directions,
And lead you towards the blue thresholds
Where the crowded spirits of the interior hall salute you . . .

There:
You and I
Climb
The spire of light
And the sound of the cathedral
Is no longer justified!

EULOGIES FOR SYLVIA PLATH

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Eulogies for Sylvia Plath

My love
Do you hear me reciting
Songs about the green country and the ultimate journey?
And like the star of March I come bearing
The Zodiac pain, the witches’ moon, their passion . . .
I come dressed in the whiteness of the moment that precedes
Crossing,
When the time – spans stuck on the dragon’s blood
Hang from the top of the throat . . .
And the Grey color edified all colors,
There shall we meet:
Between the line and its echo !

My love !
O thread of the fascinating twilight
Woven by desire in my limbs,
The red tiles
Over the roof of the ancient house
Will illuminate the forest in all directions,
And lead you towards the blue thresholds
Where the crowded spirits of the interior hall salute you . . .

There:
You and I
Climb
The spire of light
And the sound of the cathedral
Is no longer justified!

Eulogies for Sylvia Plath

My love
Do you hear me reciting
Songs about the green country and the ultimate journey?
And like the star of March I come bearing
The Zodiac pain, the witches’ moon, their passion . . .
I come dressed in the whiteness of the moment that precedes
Crossing,
When the time – spans stuck on the dragon’s blood
Hang from the top of the throat . . .
And the Grey color edified all colors,
There shall we meet:
Between the line and its echo !

My love !
O thread of the fascinating twilight
Woven by desire in my limbs,
The red tiles
Over the roof of the ancient house
Will illuminate the forest in all directions,
And lead you towards the blue thresholds
Where the crowded spirits of the interior hall salute you . . .

There:
You and I
Climb
The spire of light
And the sound of the cathedral
Is no longer justified!
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
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LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère