Sunday, August 19, 2012

Poet Blaise Cendrars and Artist Sonia Delaunay Make Magic

From 
La Prose du Transsibérien et de la petite Jehanne de France
[The Prose of the Transsiberian and of Little Jeannie of France]. 
Paris: Editions des Hommes Nouveaux, 1913. By the poet Blaise Cendrars (1887-1961) and artist Sonia Delaunay (1885-1979).

The sky is like the shredded tent of a poor circus in a small fishing village
In Flanders
The sun is a smoky oil lamp
And at the very top of a trapeze a woman makes a moon.
The clarinet the piston a sharp flute and a bad tambourine
And here is my cradle
My cradle
It was always next to the piano when my mother like Madame Bovary played Beethoven sonatas
I spent my childhood in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon
And skipping school, in the railroad stations in front of departing trains
Now, I have made all the trains run behind me
Basel-Timbuktu
I have also bet on the races at Auteuil and at Longchamp
Paris – New York
Now, I have made all the trains run the course of my life
Madrid – Stockholm
And I lost all my bets
There is now only Patagonia, Patagonia, that suits my immense sadness, Patagonia, and a journey to the South Seas
I'm on the road
I've always been on the road.
- translated by Ekaterina Likhtik

French Poet Blaise Cendrars
Read more about this collaboration at the MOMA website 

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