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Showing posts from September, 2011

Neglecting Cendrars

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I feel I have been neglecting my Cendrars for too long. The iconoclastic poetry of the man with one arm has always fascinated me deeply. He is the first real modernist in a way. No wonder Henry Miller worshipped him. Reading him in translation is always tricky. He masters French in a way that makes my heart rejoice. Journal Christ There goes another year in which I haven’t thought about You Since I wrote my penultimate poem Easter My life has changed so much But I’m the same as ever I still want to become a painter Here are the pictures that I’ve done displayed here on the walls this evening. They reveal to me strange perspectives into myself that make me think of You. Christ Life See what I’ve unearthed My paintings make me uneasy I’m too passionate Everything is tinted orange. I’ve passed a sad day thinking about my friends And reading my diary Christ A life crucified in this journal that I hold at arm’s length. Wingspans Rockets Frenzy Cries Like a crashing aeroplane That’s me.